


鏡

by Officer_Jennie



Series: Requested Works [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Slow Burn, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: 鏡 (Looking Glass): A mirror of one's expectations, of what one believes to be normal.





	鏡

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WrithingBeneathYou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/gifts).



> This was supposed to be 2K, but my hand slipped.
> 
> Multiple times.
> 
> ...I have no excuses.

A ghost not of this world slipped into the house well past midnight, shadowed by the moon. Its presence went unnoticed, the sleeping family trained soldiers of war but still unaware of the being padding softly down the hall. The door of the nursery slid open and shut, no one there to see it approach the weeks old babe laying swaddled in its cradle.

No one saw the ghost slip back out of the house, past the walls of the compound, disappearing into the distance. When the family woke up the next morning it was to the sound of wailing, not a soul able to comfort or console the fussing babe. It bawled even in the mother’s arms for days until at long last it settled, and life went on as if the ghost had never been there at all.

* * *

 

Izuna had never been a typical child. Even at the young age of five he preferred the company of books over children his age, the only ones able to drag him away from his quiet corner in the living room being his brothers.

Kou had the most luck of it, having gotten used to corralling all his younger brothers, and had learned rather early on that the easiest way to get Izuna to listen was to speak to him as if he weren’t a child.

It was for that reason Kou was his favorite, and it was ever his eldest brother Izuna went running to whenever he had questions about their world or clan.

When Kou wasn’t training, he would spent hours cleaning and sharpening the weapons used by their immediate family, shut away in his room with candles burning no matter the time of day or year. That was where Izuna found him one afternoon, knocking against the bamboo frame and waiting until his brother bid him enter.

“Hey, Zuzu, you need something?”

“I don’t like that name.” Izuna puffed out one of his cheeks, crouching down next to his brother at his desk. Kou always left out a spare cushion in case one of his brothers wanted to talk, though it was rarely anyone besides himself or Madara. Their brother Togakushi spent most of his time on kenjutsu practice now that he’d become of fighting age, far too focused and worn out whenever not in the training fields, and Kuro…

“Nii-san, where’s Kuro-nii?”

The rasp of the whetstone paused, something shadowing Kou’s eyes. “Kuro’s not with us anymore, Zuzu.”

Izuna scrunched up his nose as the whetstone slid across the sword’s blade once more. “I said I don’t like that name. Stop calling me that.” He huffed, ducking down to try and catch Kou’s eyes. “But _why_ is Kuro-nii gone? Where’d he go?”

“To the Pure Lands.” After carefully examining the sword, Kou slid it back into its sheath, placing it gently on the tatami at his side. “It’s where we all go eventually. He just...went there a little early.”

“Pure Lands?” There were a few maps in their father’s study that Izuna had scoured over once when he’d gotten especially bored, but he didn’t remember any mention of such a place on them.

“Yeah, look, Zuzu I-” Kou cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I know how to… Have you eaten lunch yet?”

The change in topic was abrupt, but the mention of food was enough to distract young Izuna. They both went to the kitchen in search of food, and only much later that night tucked away into his futon did Izuna realize Kou had never really answered his question.

He meant to ask him again, only to find out Kou was sent on a mission the next day. It was their mother who had to break the news to him a few weeks after, handkerchief in hand and her shoulders stiff: Kou, too, had been sent off to the Pure Lands, leaving his family behind.

It wasn’t the first time the name Senju had been a spat curse in their household, but it was the first he remembered well. After that his lips curled at any mention of the name, knowing they were the ones who stole his brother from him.

* * *

 

“You have to concentrate, Izuna. Feel the air in your lungs.”

He’d been attempting to ‘feel the air in his lungs’ for the past several hours, and if he hadn’t known full well what backsass would've earned him he would’ve snapped at his father. Instead, Izuna took another deep breath, paying careful attention to how the air filled his lungs - and inwardly snarking about how it felt _no different_ from any other breath he’d taken.

All Uchiha were expected to learn the Gōkakyū no Jutsu at an early age, but as an heir Izuna was expected to learn it even sooner. Madara had managed easily enough when he was only eight, and yet Izuna hadn’t been able to produce so much as a flicker of flame in the whole year he’d been practicing.

Tajima had been less than pleased with the lacking results. He’d even shoved Izuna’s training off on one of his older cousins for several months, unable to watch him floundering at the Uchiha rite of passage. It had been the loss of Togakushi that had redoubled his father’s drills, him being no doubt determined to keep his last remaining spare son both skilled enough to survive and not be seen as an utter failure to the clan.

As Izuna breathed out nothing but air once more, left panting from the effort and exhausted from wasting chakra, he didn’t dare look up at his father. Knowing he was failing him and _seeing_ the disappointment were two different things, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the latter. Not after two hours of breathing practice today alone. Not after watching his last brother come home victorious after yet another battle, longing to stand at Madara’s side and be able to _protect him_ instead of always relying on the protection of others.

If he could only master this one damned jutsu, the war would be his as well. The nights spent waiting in the foyer alone, unable to sleep and uncertain if his family would even return home to him, would finally end.

“Enough.” The word rang with finality. Izuna shook as he shifted his stance, not quite hanging his head in shame but keeping his eyes on the ground. “Go home before you collapse. Tomorrow you will try again - and succeed.”

He knew better than to argue against his father’s logic. Instead of pointing out how clear it was that he _wouldn’t_ , he forced his legs to move, dragging himself back towards the center of the compound. Kicking rocks as he went wasn’t exactly the best for his balance, and it didn’t actually change anything, but it did ease some of his frustration - though he was keenly aware of how childish it was to do so.

Practically throwing a tantrum in the middle of the compound, where anyone could see him. At least his father had been too disappointed to follow him, or else he’d have a lecture coming for sure - if his father was feeling kind, anyway.

The house was quiet, no sign of his mother or Madara. It was often empty of an afternoon so Izuna didn’t fret over it, collapsing on a few of the cushions piled around their kotatsu. Getting them dirty with sweat and dust would most definitely earn him a lecture but no matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes open all they did was inch further shut.

In sleep, at least, he couldn’t disappoint anyone further. Not even his father. And if he was lucky enough perhaps the solution to his struggles would come to him in a dream.

* * *

 

It wasn’t a dream that brought him answers. They also didn’t come for another year - a year spent watching Tajima’s frown twist into a scowl, his tone turned harsh and cold at the lack of progress in their clan’s art, accusations of not taking it seriously thrown about when Izuna found so many other jutsu simple to master.

He swallowed his nerves as he stood next to his father, as he had every day they’d come out to the training fields together. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, Madara’s gaze steady on him from where he watched against a tree, back early from a mission and curious to see his little brother’s progress.

“Breathe, and then release. You know the hand signs.”

It wasn’t a good idea. Not with Madara watching as well, not with his father so close - even though Tajima’s eyes had long started to look past him, focused on anything besides the son at his side. Something Izuna had learned to live with, something he told himself didn’t cause the ache in his breast.

Knowing that any new day could bring another battlefield of Uchiha corpses, slaughtered by the Senju, brought Izuna’s hands up. Flying through the seals, morphing his chakra with them, was the easiest part; the slight of hand in the midst went unnoticed, and at last, _at long last_ , a fireball erupted, not quite the size of his father’s or brother’s but decent enough to be considered a _success_.

The flames died down, leaving the earth scorched in front of him. Only after a few seconds did he dare a glance up, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly at the surprise written all over his father’s face.

A clap on his shoulder made him jump, head whipping around to find Madara at his side, his smile wicked. “Certainly took you long enough, but I guess we can finally put away the training weapons.”

“I haven’t used _training weapons_ in years, Aniki.” Despite knowing how young it made him look, Izuna puffed out a cheek at the teasing. He stuffed his right hand into his pocket as Madara mussed up his hair.

“Decent.” The grunt of semi-approval drew his attention back to his father. “You’ll be fitted for armor tomorrow, if we have any that will fit you.”

“Armor…” Madara echoed their father as they both watched him leave, resting his own hand on Izuna’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fighting with you from now on, Aniki. Armor’s important for that.” The relief he’d expected hadn’t come yet. Izuna shoved his fist further into his pocket, trudging off towards home without looking back at his brother.

Madara caught up in no time, a frown deeper than normal dragging his face down. “You’re still too young to be a soldier.”

“You started younger than me.” Izuna ducked past one of their distant relatives, the woman stumbling with a bloody rag pressed against her head to staunch a wound. One of their medics lead her quickly by the arm, and Izuna watched them until they were out of sight.

“That’s…” There was a hint of something odd in Madara’s tone that made Izuna clench his jaw. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good for him. All he wanted was a bath and a nap, and to hide away from the thick ball weighing heavy in his gut.

When they finally reached the porch to the main house, a firm hand on his arm stopped him short. He spent just enough energy to scowl up at his brother, trying and failing to stop his nose from scrunching up as well.

“You’re too young for war, Zuzu.”

“Don’t call me that.” Izuna jerked away from his brother’s grip, a flash of pain at the old nickname. He hated how he couldn’t sound angry as he snapped, hated how small he sounded instead. It would only make Madara feel even surer about whatever point he was trying to make.

Madara puffed himself up, glaring over at the wood railing. “I’m just trying to _protect_ you, brat. Can’t you be grateful for once?”

“Well it’s not _your_ decision. _Otou-sama_ is clan head, not _you_ , so stop acting so full of yourself.”

He didn’t wait for a response, stomping off inside and to his room. Dropping down onto his futon for the night meant forgoing a bath but he did so anyway, grabbing the nearest pillow to smother a frustrated scream into.

Izuna didn’t _want_ to need protecting. He wanted to be strong enough to protect his brother - his _last_ brother, like he couldn’t all the others.

The smell of powder nearly made him sneeze. He shifted his head just enough to see a new grey-black stain on the pillowcase from his right hand. No one had caught it, no one would probably ever know, but it still left the taste of ash in his mouth.

At least now he could stand at his family’s side, no matter if he hadn’t truly earned the spot next to them.

* * *

 

Less than two weeks later, Izuna saw his first battle. It left him dazed and ill, feeling both lighter and heavier than he ever had before.

He found the best solution was to simply not think on it. Books became his only solace, the one place no longer soaked in blood and echoing steel. Studying had never been dull to him; where Madara preferred active practice, Izuna found looking into the whys and hows of each jutsu and technique just as thrilling as the active mastering of each.

Stumbling across fuinjutsu had been a blessing all its own. Keeping his mind busy researching and teaching his hands to remain steady through the nightmare that had taken over his life proved to be more than useful - if he could hold a brush still enough to copy intricate patterns, he could hold his arm steady enough to throw a kunai even when fear prickled at his mind.

His father had little patience for the hours he stole away with his nose stuck in the crease of his tomes. It was Madara who often covered for him, sending Tajima on wild goose hunts when he went looking for the second heir. In return Izuna taught his brother all he could of the jutsu the other had the patience to learn: iryō ninjutsu, bits and pieces of the fuinjutsu Izuna so loved, the logic behind their kenjutsu stances, some old katon that he’d found described in yellowed scrolls hidden in the back of the Uchiha private storage. He himself could never get the katon down, and felt a familiar jab of pain every time he watched Madara master them with ease, remembering the smell of combustion powder like a trigger on how he’d failed at their clan’s signature ninjutsu.

It was a scout company from Kiri that brought him more knowledge - and even more confusion. Defeating three shinobi unused to his home climate was a bit like child’s play despite having run into them on his own, and Izuna felt no shame in rifling through their belongings once he knew for certain they weren’t getting back up again.

The half drawn map of the surrounding territory at least made their mission clear. He took out some of his powder and burned the parchment, dusting his hands off before continuing to search the bodies. Little else caught his interest until a scroll dropped out of the last pack, the wax seal stamped with a crest he vaguely recognized as one of the noble clans in Kiri.

He knew better than to open it right away, stuffing it in his own pack and disposing of the bodies to make sure they wouldn’t be found. After triple checking there would be no traces left of either him or the invaders he set off home, eager to make his report and crack open the scroll.

As luck would have it, his father was too busy to hear his report immediate upon his return, and Izuna spared little time in heading to his room, sliding the door shut behind him. Normally he would have taken the first hour or so back to care for his weapons but the burning need to know took precedence above everything else.

Checking for potential traps or poisons turned up nothing, and he’d hardly given himself the time to double check before snapping the seal open.

Why they’d been carrying around a scroll of midleven suiton jutsu, Izuna couldn’t say. The explanation didn’t matter as much as the quiet awe at the discovery. Living in a clan of primarily katon users meant he’d never had the chance to study any suiton jutsu before, only having seen it on a few scatterings of missions here and there that took him closer to Kiri. He’d never bothered to try to copy the techniques, having yet to activate his sharingan and not having any high hopes of being able to perform them anyway.

But this, this was different. Midlevel techniques weren’t child’s play, and could actually prove useful - assuming he could figure them out. Having something in his arsenal that his enemies wouldn’t expect was a clear advantage, and the fire proof materials they used on parts of their compound were expensive and worn easily by weather. Being able to put out any potential house fires quickly should be a good enough reason for his father to allow him to ‘waste time’ on this.

Izuna didn’t bother checking to see if his father’s meeting had ended yet, deciding that then was as good a time as any to head out and try his hand at the new jutsu.

By the time he drug himself home for the night, the training field was flooded, large trenches crossing the middle and filled with mud. He’d have to fix it in the morning but that mattered little as he collapsed on top of his futon, not bothering to change out of his filthy clothes as he sank into the covers.

At least he knew now why he had such difficulty with katon ninjutsu. It was always difficult to learn the opposite of one’s natural affinity.

* * *

 

Madara was keeping something from him.

His brother wasn’t nearly as clever as he thought he was. Deflecting his questions rather than giving excuses to where he was headed only made his daily disappearances more suspicious - they had shared almost everything with each other since the loss of their last sibling, growing ever closer in their shared mourning, and the instant Madara stopped clued Izuna right in to his deceit.

On some level, Izuna knew it was hypocritical to feel so hurt at his brother keeping a secret from him. He’d never once admitted to his own lie, hiding his invention of the specialized combustion powder that imitated katon jutsu and his own failures revolving around it.

It still hurt. Deeply. Every time Madara would brush him off, his eyes flickering off towards the edge of the compound, it cut a little more. One foot facing the direction he so clearly itched to go in, away from his little brother and the rest of their family, off to the gods only knew where.

Sensing had become a sort of specialty of Izuna’s, and following his brother’s chakra wasn’t difficult. If he focused, stretching his range to its ever growing limits, he could feel his brother somewhere off south, where he’d stay for hours.

Why he was there was a mystery. _What_ was there that caught and held his attention also baffled Izuna, and not even maps could help him there. He might be able to follow the trail of his brother’s chakra but he still had difficulty figuring out how far he’d went; really, he could only sense Madara that far away because he was so familiar with the other’s chakra signature. If it had been someone foreign to him, at that distance he wouldn’t have been able to sense them at all.

Calling it a betrayal was an overstatement. Knowing that didn’t stop Izuna from _feeling_ betrayed, and he only felt worse when Madara didn’t notice his clipped tone whenever they’d speak to one another as of late.

It was that hurt that made Izuna follow him, swallowing back guilt and sticking to the tree tops a good half a mile back from Madara. His brother might be a sensor as well, but Izuna knew from years of training with him that he could mask his chakra well enough to keep from being discovered by him.

That his brother had found a friend outside the clan had never occurred to him as a possibility. Watching them skip rocks and bicker made an old hole in his chest twinge and ache - Izuna was quick to shove the feeling aside, focusing in on the boy Madara had made such a point of sneaking off to meet.

Whoever he was, Madara _knew_ he shouldn’t be meeting with him. If he were an ally there would be no need to hide their friendship. Perhaps from their father, who claimed any time not training was a waste, but from his own brother?

His brother’s friend was just as careless and easy to follow, though Izuna didn’t have to go much further passed the Senju territory border to know where he hailed from.

Madara might be a fool, but Izuna knew full well his brother knew his new friend’s identity. This, at least, was a worthy enough reason to feel utterly betrayed by his own blood.

This time, Izuna’s hurt lead him to their father’s office, fists clenched as he made his unexpected report, the words like rot in his mouth. Madara had betrayed their family, making friends and cavorting with the enemy. The very enemy that had ripped Kou, Kuro, and even Togakushi from their arms.

He felt no guilt or shame when he was sent to summon Madara, nor after when his brother refused to so much as look at him. Guilt was meant for those who had done wrong, and Izuna knew in his heart it was Madara who had wronged him - not the other way around.

* * *

 

The plan was simple yet efficient. It felt a little wrong to use Madara as bait but Izuna bit that feeling back, sword at the ready and chakra suppressed as he peered out through the trees alongside his father.

Hashirama was the boy’s name, and he showed up only a few minutes after they had. Izuna’s grip tightened around the handle of his weapon, face twisting into a sneer, directed at the enemy standing across the river.

Whether or not that particular Senju had raised a hand against his brothers was irrelevant. He’d tried to take Madara in another way, to steal his loyalty from the Uchiha family. To the Uchiha, family was everything, and Izuna could never forgive anyone such easily.

Fury aside… Izuna squinted in an attempt to see the boy better, cursing his poor vision as he did. Because something was off about his stance - about Madara’s stance as well, and his greeting. He might have only witnessed one interaction between them, but the stiff way they both stood suggested reluctance and fear.

Seeing Madara like that wasn’t surprising, even if it was disappointing. His brother should have been able to hide his feelings better than that. But seeing Hashirama like that…

It did not bode well for their plan.

He didn’t have time to ponder on it, his father giving the signal to ambush. In an instant they were on the river - and they were not alone.

Despite being at war with the Senju, Izuna could count the number of that particular enemy he’d met on his hands alone. They had all been rather nondescript, foot soldiers, unimportant fodder and hardly distinguishable from one to the next.

The boy he met then was none of the above.

An albino. White hair and pale skin, his sword larger than his body. Red eyes so similar to the sharingan it made Izuna ill to look at them, as if staring at proof of kekkei genkai thieves.

“Senju Butsuma.”

His father’s voice snapped him to attention, and Izuna narrowed his eyes at his adversary. If standing before him was the leader of the Senju - which only made sense, considering Hashirama was the heir - then it was safe to assume…

“And Senju Tobirama, right?” It didn't need to be a question. Izuna knew he was right.

The boy knew him as well, and soon they moved into action.

No blood was spilled that day, when mortal enemies stood on the river and clashed steel. No warriors or weapons lost to the skirmish. Instead, the Uchiha clan gained a weapon: Madara’s sharingan activating at the betrayal of the Senju he’d foolishly called friend. Tajima called a retreat immediately, satisfied enough with the results, and sure his son had learned his lesson.

Izuna gained no such weapon, but still that day stuck out in his mind as important. Not only for the betrayal from his brother, nor from Madara’s accomplishments, but for the enemy he’d met face-to-face. The second heir, his ghost-like counterpart, the one whose eyes of blood stared into him with mutual burning hatred and disgust.

He might not have believed in frivolous idiocracies like fate, might have been a skeptic even on the existence of gods - but Izuna knew a sign when he saw one, knew there was a _reason_ he’d met that boy on the river, faced _him_ in particular as their brothers screamed for them to stop fighting.

And that reason was simple: they were meant to fight, meant for one to fell the other. Izuna’s job was to make sure he stood the victor in the end, and he was more than happy to see that job through.

* * *

 

Fated or not, his job proved more difficult than he’d expected.

After their respective withdrawals from the river, Madara became both more withdrawn and more open with his brother in different ways. A fierceness settled over him, a seriousness that had always been at the edge of his personality, now taking over his every waking hour. For once, there was no denying Madara’s heritage, his birthright, and with each passing week he became more and more the Uchiha heir he’d been born to be.

Their relationship as brothers suffered and blossomed all at once. Madara pushed Izuna to his limits and beyond when they would spar, and more than ever seemed determined to prepare both himself and his little brother for the war they’d inherited from their father’s generation.

Yet it was more than a year before any of their interactions could have been called brotherly, and the first time Madara smacked the back of his head and called him a brat was the first in so long that Izuna felt like he could breathe around him.

Nothing could be fixed overnight, neither perceived wrongdoing erased so easily, but it was a step towards becoming a proper family once more. That, to Izuna, was enough of a start.

Fighting on the battlefield next to Madara proved much easier once the crack between them had started to mend. It became increasingly clear that they worked well in tandem as well; with Izuna’s stellar speed and Madara’s brute strength, combined with the genius of both, few enemies - Senju or otherwise - stood much of a chance in their path. Madara’s gunbai brought forth a hurricane of damage, and Izuna cut through in the aftermath of the mayhem to take the advantage.

Their tactic aided them in battle after battle, but even the most stubborn of foes would eventually wisen up to their strengths, and attempt to find a way around them.

It was a call from the shogunate that caused the clash. The Senju and Uchiha had long ago pledged their allegiance to the Tokugawa family, the rightful shogun of Hi no Kuni, and both swore fealty to his rule above their own. Yet, even though their war was no secret, mistakes were made that proved fatal for many of his subjects on occasion.

If one were to ask Izuna, he would have said this particular ‘mistake’ couldn’t have been short of a setup. But despite being old enough to kill and be killed for his clan he was still seen as far too young, far too green to understand anything of politics.

According to his father, it was a mere mishap that lead to both the clans being charged with guarding the same high ranking court members. Court members that arrived later than their predestined time, long after the battle that would ensue.

It was a mistake, then, that they met in battle at last.

Sensing a party of Senju coming their way at least saved them from a potential ambush, though neither party had really bothered to hide their approach. The advantage went to no one, and weapons were drawn before either even had a visual on the other. Izuna fell in a step behind his brother, armor-less due to his recent growth spurt and the Uchiha’s lacking funds. Madara stood without armor as well, jaw set hard and grip loose on his gunbai.

“Hashirama’s mine.”

It was too quiet to have been directed at anyone else. Izuna didn’t have time to respond before the Senju force showed up, and the assault began.

Madara’s idiocy split them up, their usual tactic left to the wayside for whatever spur of vengeance had taken him. It left Izuna grinding his teeth, using his natural speed to weave through the forces and take a few by surprise while trying to make his way towards his brother.

All that was put to a stop when a misfired katon singed his clothes, his body jerking away by instinct and head whipping around to spot whatever imbecile had nearly given him third degree burns.

Except he was met with a snarling Senju, not one of his own clan, and he found himself steel to steel with their second heir once more.

“ _Uchiha scum_!”

Wasting breath on insults made little sense, thought they did nothing to detract from the Senju’s battle prowess. His skill let him keep up with even Izuna’s speed, and it became clear rather quickly that katon ninjutsu were not the only unexpected tricks up his sleeves.

Living with a clan of skilled genjutsu users had not made Izuna better at utilizing them (his were still rudimentary at best, not at all battle worthy), but it meant he had learned quickly to recognize and dispel them even in the midst of battle.

It wasn’t that his opponent could use genjutsu that surprised him. Plenty of shinobi had at least some understanding of how to, and when one was enemies with a clan known for being exceptionally skilled at something it was wise for one to study it as well. It was the skill in which the Senju weaved the jutsu that threw him off-guard, and Izuna only just managed to catch and dispel it in time to duck away from a dangerously well aimed kunai. His cheek stung from the close call, a trickle of blood mixing with the sweat from the heat, eyes trained on the Senju who’d nearly made a fool of him.

Tobirama was proving to be more than just another enemy to slaughter. His stance shifted, red eyes fuming as his grip visibly tightened on his katana.

Some part of Izuna flared in offense at the audacity of the man before him, his own stance shifting in a mirror, waiting for his opponent to move first. His opponent who had an impressive skill in both katon ninjutsu and genjutsu alike, skills that were Izuna’s birthright and yet remained free from his own control.

And now Tobirama stood before him, using them as easily as he fought or breathed. As if to mock him, to mock that Izuna was found lacking.

If Tobirama was looking for his own rival, he was certainly on the right track - though Izuna would be sure to make quick work of him.

Their weapons clashed only moments later, both barely paying attention to the battle around them, focused as they were on the other. Yet no matter how one pushed the other would parry, the upper hand only gained for fractions of a second before it was lost once more.

In the end they left with nothing more than cuts and dark bruises, each beating a retreat with their respective clans, breaths fast and heavy while their gazes remained sharp.

An understanding passed between them. Next time, they would face each other again - and next time, this battle of theirs would be settled for good.

* * *

 

“Shove over.”

Izuna glared over at his brother as he was forcefully pushed to the side, steam thick in the air and his lungs. There was little reason for Madara to be sitting so close in such a large onsen, besides the obvious (and infuriating) overprotective side he so loved to smother him with.

He hated how little he was trusted with his own safety - especially here, in the calm heat of the natural spring, one just at the edge of their territory - in a place they’d visited all throughout their youth.

At least he found some comfort in the water. Izuna sunk down further, pulling his legs up close to rest his chin on his knees. Not even an overbearing brother could ruin water for him, no matter how determined Madara was at times to get on every single one of his nerves.

Violent ripples in the water had him snorting out water, glaring back over at Madara as he disturbed it further, flinging his hair back and forth while trying to tie it all up.

“Shouldn’t you have done that _before_ getting in? Why do you even keep that monster anyway?”

Madara huffed, finally working his growing and tangled mess into a wonky bun atop his head. “It’s a sign of pride, brat.”

He knew full well what it was. A challenge to Madara’s enemies, daring them to try to use it against him. Izuna had great doubts anyone ever could though. He eyed his brother for a moment, wondering briefly when the boy who’d tormented him with idle threats of visits to the family koi pond had turned into the fierce warrior now sitting next to him.

Long years ago, of course. They’d both become warriors early in life, and no matter how many might still call them children there was no denying their skill at the very least.

“You could probably grow yours out too, you know.” Madara reached over to tug at Izuna’s hair, which earned his hand a swat, Izuna’s cheek puffing out as he patted it back into place.

“I like it as is, thank you very much.”

When Madara messed with his hair further, grinning as he roughed up his little brother, Izuna did his best to shove him back with his foot. It was something he regretted almost immediately, grin turning wicked as Madara got a firm grip on his ankle and yanked him, sending Izuna yelping under the water.

He surfaced quickly, tossing the bangs out of his eyes and baring his teeth at the now strangely quiet Madara.

“What the hell was that for?”

“Have you been sleeping with your experiments again?”

The question was odd enough to snap Izuna’s jaw shut around an insult, brows pinching together as Madara started at the sole of his still captured foot. “Why do you ask?”

“Because of _this_.”

Shaking his foot didn’t exactly make his point any clearer, which he at least realized once Izuna tried to jerk it back. It was a bit rude to release it so suddenly though, Izuna having to throw an arm back to keep from going under again.

“ _Why_ must you be so difficult?” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, twisting his foot around to see whatever had Madara talking about his experiments.

There were marks on his foot. One’s he’d never seen before. Izuna frowned, leaning down to squint at the faint, ever so faint lines crisscrossing here and there on his sole. Whatever pattern they created was too faded to identify, his eyes aching just trying to find logic in them.

“S’what you get, sleeping on wet ink.” Madara’s tone suggested he was teasing, but his eyes were a bit too focused to fool his brother. But Izuna had no other explanation to offer, so he stretched his leg back out into the water, content enough to soak what must have been ink out of his skin.

* * *

 

It took only a few years for the war to lose its luster.

Madara’s anger grew to rage and fury, burning hotter and hotter, fueled by past loses and the constant deaths that haunted their clansmen. His gunbai cut through the Senju forces, pushed back by first a katana and then the thick branches of his betrayer’s unique jutsu. Soon his weapon no longer seemed ridiculous for his size, Madara standing a man at the front of their forces, barking orders at the soldiers nearby as he occupied Hashirama’s time and strength to keep the rest of the Uchiha safe.

As his brother raged on, Izuna found himself only growing more tired.

The disturbed earth over their brothers’ graves, some of which hid no body at all, had long settled back level with the graveyard. Grass had grown where once he used to kneel and weep in secret, fingers like claws on the cradle of dirt given to those who had left him behind for the supposed peace of the Pure Lands.

His heart would never heal. Never fully, never after those wounds. Still he woke on occasion in the chill of night, searching desperately in his half-awake state for the three signatures that should have slept only a few rooms down from his own. And each time he failed to find them, the scars tore open anew, just as painful as the days he’d been told they’d never come home.

But even though the war had stolen his brothers from him, even though he faced the kin of those responsible, fighting did not ease his burdens. Felling Senju did not breathe life back into cold and rotted corpses, Kuro and Kou and Togakushi remaining nothing but husks decaying away, polished bones underground without a hint of the ones he’d laughed and played and trained with.

Each time Izuna crashed blades with his sworn enemy, each time he stared into the red eyes so alike the sharingan, bared teeth glinting like the sparks off the steel between them - each time he left with less of himself. Less energy to continue on with what he knew now was nothing but madness. No matter that he had sworn to settle this personal war between them, Izuna felt _tired_ , and wished for it to end on its own accord.

There were nights he wished he could summon the anger that came so easily to his brother, so quickly to his father. Nights spent with his gut hollow, nothing but cold air and distant echoes of memories far too removed to bring him comfort. Full days where his movements felt sluggish in comparison to the passion Madara had for battle, the clan heir dancing fluid through both training kata and through his enemies, not a person able to stop him but his check and balance amongst the ranks of the Senju.

Days that Izuna spent weary of the sleepless nights and the wailing cries of those who mourned and swore further vengeance. Battles spent staring into the snarling face of his own sworn rival, searching for a weak link in his defenses, all the while wondering _why_.

Why couldn’t he fight like his brother, like his father, his kinsmen? Why could he not summon the very same burning rage for their enemies, be fueled by hatred for the Senju?

He questioned it in the waking hours one summer morning, staring into the pond that sat in their backyard. Bent forward until his nose almost touched the water, focused on the mirror of black eyes that stared right back at him. Black eyes that had never awakened, never felt the surge of chakra that would gift him their clan’s kekkei genkai.

A flicker of red gave him pause, though it was there and gone in but an instant. His imagination, then. Wistful thinking.

Izuna sighed, pushing himself back up and towards the house, his bare feet leaving prints in the dew damp grass. First he spotted grey hairs and now he’s imagining things. Clearly his mind and body were betraying him - next he knew, he’d be rotting as well.

* * *

 

“What if I never unlock my sharingan?”

Izuna had hardly meant to blurt the question out, nearly as stunned as Madara by his own outburst. They’d only recently taken a break from training, Izuna (as always) looking far more affected than his training partner. His heart rate had finally slowed but even the intense stretch and strain of his muscles had done little to calm his quietly fretting mind.

He was only a few years off of being of age. It had been years since he’d been first drafted into the war, years since he’d seen his first deaths and dealt his first in return. Years since Madara had awakened his sharingan, and now several months since his brother’s had evolved into something even more powerful and rare among their clansmen.

Loss. It was supposedly the pain of loss, brought on by their deep love, that gave the Uchiha power - according to some thought to be long lost scrolls he’d come across a while back. And yet Izuna sat there with nothing to show for his own loses, nothing but cracked mud on his clothes and burn scars on his palms from the combustion powder he’d been using to lie to his family for years.

“There’s not an age limit, you know.”

Izuna didn’t bother following that train of thought, picking at some of the singed grass between them. “What if I don’t have it? Is that even possible?” It was true that some Uchiha never awakened the sharingan, but he’d always assumed, as many had, that it was due to mixed blood - or them not living long enough to do so. Was it possible he’d been wrong?

Was he defective?

“Gods, Zuzu, you’ll get even more grey hairs if you keep panicking about it.”

“I’m not _panicking_ , I’m _postulating_ .” He resisted the urge to toss a rock at his brother’s fat head, though it was a close thing. “And _stop calling me that_.”

“Why are you even thinking about it?”

The blatantly idiotic question did nothing to ease Izuna’s growing frustration. He took it out on the dead grass, ripping it out to watch it fly away in the wind.

It must have been easy for Madara to think like that. To tell him not to worry about it. He let his bangs fall in front of his face, grinding his teeth to bite back his anger.

Not able to perform his clan’s signature ninjutsu. Unable to unlock his clan’s kekkei genkai. And not able to draw from that deep well of hatred that seemed so vast and endless for his family - and even himself only a few short years ago.

What kind of an excuse for an Uchiha _was_ he?

“Oi, brat.” The words were rude, but the tone was soft. When Izuna tilted his head he was met with a deep set frown, worry at the edges of Madara’s eyes. “Even if you don’t, you’re still a warrior - and a good one at that. It’s not like you need it.”

“I know I don’t need it…” Like always, his brother missed the point. Izuna still scooted a bit closer, letting his head rest against his brother’s shoulder. Madara heaved a rather put-upon sigh but notably stayed still, only jostling his shoulder enough to get Izuna’s attention.

“Then why are you so worried about it?”

Izuna didn’t respond at first. He messed with the ends of his long sleeves, picking at the bits of lint to give his hands something to do.

Years of lying had eaten at him, though he did his best to tell himself it was worth it. That he _had_ to lie to fight at his brother’s side, to protect him the best he could. He looked at the burn marks on his palm once more, running a thumb over the scars, tracing the lines he’d memorized every time he earned  new one.

What would Madara think of him if he knew? If he found out he’d lied to fight in the war, had never truly earned his right to be there?

His hand clenched shut, and Izuna turned to hide his face against his brother’s sleeve. It’s not like telling him now would change the fact that he’d lied to begin with. And far be it from him to endanger his place at his brother’s side when Madara was the only person he really had left to care for.

* * *

 

This time, Izuna was almost certain he’d not slept on any wet ink.

His hands paused in wrapping up his sprained ankle, eyes tracing the now visible pattern of lines on the sole of his foot. If his studies were anything to go by, he’d say they were seals, though they weren’t ones he recognized off the top of his head. The coloring was faint though, and it might just have been his mind playing tricks on him but Izuna could have sworn they were the exact lines that his brother had spotted in the onsen over half a year before.

A quick scan of the compound told him Madara was at home, and he finished wrapping up his ankle before putting his sandal back on. He was careful to favor the other leg as he left the training field, sidestepping some of children as they ran past him, off to play the soldiers they’d be in only a few short years.

Madara was in his room, seated at a low desk and studying some scroll or another, his typical scowl in place when Izuna entered with little more than a courtesy rap at his door. It earned him a huff in return, and a roll of the eyes when he flopped down on a spare cushion without waiting for an invitation.

“Your eyesight’s better than mine.” Izuna shoved his foot in Madara’s lap and ignored the few seconds of sputtering, grabbing a quill and spare parchment from the mess on the desk. “I need you to copy something for me.”

The parchment was snatched from him, looking down expectantly at the foot that had been so rudely dropped on him. To clarify, Izuna shook it, wincing a bit at his hurt ankle, “It’s on my foot.”

“Why am I copying something from your foot?” The look of utter confusion on Madara’s face was almost comical, and if it weren’t for the strange seal he’d found on his own body Izuna would have at least chuckled at it. Instead he gave his brother a long look, hating as always to have to repeat himself.

“Like I said, your eyesight is better than mine. I might mess it up.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

When all Izuna did was shake his foot again, Madara went on with removing his sandal, grumbling about wearing it indoors as he did so. He had to remove the ankle wrappings as well, though he noticeably started to handle the foot more carefully once he noticed the slight swelling - which earned the younger brother a look that told him quite clearly he was in for another lecture concerning that in the near future.

Though the lines were more clearly defined than before, even Madara had to squint to make any sense of them - and as soon as he recognized them as seals as well an air of seriousness fell about him, his eyes flickering up to catch Izuna’s.

“This isn’t your work?”

“No.”

Madara stared at the seals for a minute longer, his frown deepening with each passing second. Eventually he activated his sharingan to memorize the lines, placing the foot down gently in his lap before sketching out the seals from memory.

Even though little time had past, Izuna fidgeted impatiently. “Any ideas?”

His brother grunted, dipping his quill in the ink bottle before finishing up his sketch. “Haven’t seen them before.”

Izuna scooted a bit closer to study them. Fuinjutsu was something he’d researched in passing, having only been able to get his hands on basics for the most part, and one glance at the more solidified version of the seals told him he wasn’t going to understand this anytime soon. He’d never seen more complicated seals in his life, some of the components completely foreign to him. What little he could gather was that it was time based - whatever _it_ was.

He wasn’t really sure what concerned him more: that someone had managed to place an _extremely_ advanced seal on him, or that he had no earthly idea what that seal might do - or be doing - to him.

“You should stay in the compound.” The unexpected near order had Izuna frowning over at his brother, more than a little confused with his brain running ragged trying to figure out what this might be. “Until we figure out what this is - and remove it.”

“I can’t just stay here, Aniki. What of the war?”

Madara shook his head, placing the quill down once he’d realized he was still holding it. “There’s no telling what this is meant to do. What if it paralyzes you? Putting you or anyone else around you at risk isn’t worth the chance.”

“You can’t order me to stay here.” He took his foot back and folded it beneath him, taking the parchment to study it further.

“No, but Tou-san won’t let you on the battlefield with a potential bomb strapped to you either.”

“It’s not a bomb.”

“You don’t know that.”

Izuna pursed his lips, refusing to admit that Madara was right. He didn’t know that. For all he knew, he literally had a bomb on his foot, ready to explode at any given moment.

Though staying in the compound was hardly any better. Fuinjutsu was not a specialty of their clan’s, and if his personal library didn’t hold the solution to this puzzle then there was little chance anyone elses’ here did either.

He rolled up the parchment after checking that the ink was dry, chewing on his lip. “If I’m supposed to stay here, you’ll have to look for some books for me.”

“On that fuinjutsu shit?” Izuna nodded, and Madara ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ll see what I can find, but who knows how long that’ll take. Hardly know where to start looking for something like that.”

“Just a guess, but probably somewhere with books.” His snark felt a little forced but it at last cut some of the tension, the subsequent swat on his head much lighter that it normally would have been.

“Ungrateful brat.” No matter that Madara sounded sufficiently grumpy he couldn’t hide the clear worry tightening around his eyes. It was enough to make Izuna scoot a little closer, letting his brother pull him close and pet his hair as he used to when they were younger. Maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about, maybe the seal would turn out to be nothing - but for the moment all Izuna wanted was false platitudes and to feel safe in his big brother’s arms.

* * *

 

Staying in the compound was slowly killing him. Izuna tossed another pebble into the koi pond, feet soaking in the water as he scowled at the ripples along the surface. Only a few months had passed since the seal had been discovered and not a single bit of luck had been on their side. Madara continued to come home empty handed, and Izuna continued to tick the days off as if imprisoned in a cell.

Which, in a way, he kind of was.

His brother would say he was overreaction. Had actually, only a few days prior when he’d brought up some of his many complaints about his freedom being taken from him. But apparently his boredom induced death meant little to his last remaining brother, and his issues were brushed off with a scoff and a stern reminder not to go anywhere.

At least he was allowed to train again. He lifted the cursed foot out of the water, watching as droplets fell and disturbed the surface further. It had taken up until only a few short weeks ago to beat it into everyone’s head that the seal had been there for _at least_ a year and had done _nothing_ ; training, with or without chakra, was unlikely to trigger anything if it hadn’t done so up to that point.

On some level he understood their caution. He just didn’t care for letting his brain and body rot away from misuse, even if it _did_ mean accidentally blowing himself up - or whatever the hell the seal was meant to do to him.

He dropped his foot back into the pond, not at all concerned about what he might be disturbing there. The fish were long gone, and even the frogs and toads seemed to have found a new home since he’d been quarantined and practically taken up residence here at the pond’s edge.

Only a while longer. It had become a mantra to spare his sanity, and he whispered it to himself then, falling back to stare up at the wisping clouds free to roam above him. Only a while longer, and surely Madara would come across an answer of some sort. Then, he would be free once more.

* * *

 

On the bright side, which was still incredibly dim, he had more time than ever to focus on personal research. Drowning himself in ink and parchment helped lessen his eye twitching, and Izuna was able to create a handful of semi-useful jutsu - all of which he’d actually started on months or even years before but had found so little time to complete and test out properly.

At least he felt useful, even if his father cared little for his inventions. Izuna rubbed some of the blur away from his eyes, placing his brush down as he looked out his bedroom window. No sign of Madara back yet, though it wasn’t all that unusual for him to be a day or two late coming back from his missions. If anything, he’d been taking his search for fuinjutsu materials seriously at the very least.

Evening had already settled around him, and with the sun setting he’d have to burn a candle to keep working. Most of his supply was nothing more than stubs now, melted down and useless from all the late nights spent bent over his desk, desperate for some sort of mental stimulation. He gave some consideration to borrowing another few from his father’s office, though a quick sensing of the house told him that was a no go. Risking nabbing a candle or two when the house was empty was one thing; doing so while his father was _in_ his office was simply asking for trouble.

A rather obnoxious voice in his head (one that sounded far too similar to a certain overbearing brother of his) reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since near dawn. He made sure to stretch out his sore limbs before getting up, not wanting to risk another embarrassing fall like the day before when his leg had fallen asleep without him noticing.

There was some leftover dinner waiting in the kitchen, at least. No doubt one of the maids’ doing. Cold fish and rice wasn’t exactly his favorite but after _years_ of practice he’d managed to perfect a small katon - small enough to not catch the house on fire, but effective enough to heat his food at the very least.

Fresh fish was rare this late in the year, and he was grateful for whoever had braved the river to fetch some for the clan. He purposely avoided thinking about how heavily they’d been relying on fishing and hunting as of late, knowing full well there was nothing he could do to help with the clan’s finances. Nothing beyond figuring out his seal problem and getting back out in the field - one less skilled shinobi bringing in money had hurt them, he knew, and having Madara wasting resources and time on his search for texts couldn’t be helping anything either.

He’d finished and already begun washing up his dishes by the time he felt Madara’s chakra signature. With his mind elsewhere he hadn’t even noticed him approaching the compound, only becoming aware of his brother after he’d already reached the gates. Some small part of him that always worried whenever the other was gone eased at the knowledge, Izuna breathing a little easier knowing he’d come home safe. It didn’t matter that his brother had proven time and again how few people could hope to touch his power or skill; in the end, he was still only human, and Izuna had lost far too many precious people to ever feel good with the last being out of his sight.

And he called Madara overprotective. He snorted at himself, wiping his hands on a spare towel. Well, at least he didn’t quarantine Madara at the first sign of danger (not that he’d ever had the authority to do so, which certainly didn’t make him feel any better about it).

Ease quickly turned sour, and he had to remind himself quite firmly that he _knew_ Madara was doing all he could to help him. There was little reason to get pissed at the one person trying to help him figure out what someone had put on his body.

The fact that he had no idea _who_ left a bitter taste in his mouth. He tossed the towel to the side, heading to the living room to wait and greet his brother once he got home. Not knowing who to trust had left him on edge even in the supposed safety of the compound, though he was at least sure it wasn’t either his brother or his father. That left two people he could trust, though he’d never been very close to his father to begin with.

As it always did, guilt tried to shame him for not trusting his brother as much as he should have over the years. Izuna shoved it off to the side as well, wrapped up in a mess and thrown on a back shelf of his mind to collect dust until it crawled back out again.

Someday, he’d have to deal with that. At least it wasn’t that day yet.

He was admittedly a little antsy by the time Madara walked in, as antsy as he always was waiting for him as of late. Not only did he want to be certain his brother was safe and uninjured but there was always the desperate hope that maybe today would be the day he’d come back with something useful, some sort of research material that might finally help him.

Madara looked utterly exhausted as he drug himself into the room, not bothering with a greeting as he dropped down onto a small pile of cushions in the corner, armor clinking and causing Izuna to wince in sympathy.

“Bad mission?”

His question earned him an uninformative grunt and nothing more. Izuna shuffled over to his brother’s side, getting to work on the armor ties he could reach with Madara flopped on his back - and looking entirely unready to move anytime soon.

“You’re going to regret falling asleep in all this, you know.” The likelihood that Madara would actually fall asleep like that wasn’t very high, but he didn’t exactly want to take his chances. He poked and prodded his brother around a bit, ignoring the unenergetic swats at his hands and the unheated hissing his efforts got him.

“Just let me rest, leave me here.”

Honestly, his brother was a child. Izuna told him as much, having to bodily roll him over himself to tug the last of the armor out from under him. He huffed once it was all tossed to the side, flopping onto a cushion to stare down at the big idiot laying next to him.

“You’re not injured, are you?”

“What, didn’t you notice? I died. Never coming home.” Madara peered up at him through cracked eyes, a bit closer to passing out than Izuna had first realized. He pushed some of his brother’s mess of a mane out of his face, poking at his cheek to keep him awake for just a little longer.

“Did you find anything?”

It took a minute for Madara to catch his meaning, and he struggled a bit to sit back up. “Might have.” He patted around for his bag, which had dropped along with him into the cushions. Once he found it he fished around and pulled out a scroll, shoving it into Izuna’s hands before promptly collapsing back down. “Few books sealed in there. Might help. Who knows?” His eyes were already closed by the time he finished, words cut off by a yawn as he buried himself further into the corner.

Months of nothing, and now he might actually have some answers. Even with the rush of premature relief he made sure to fetch his brother a blanket, not wanting him to catch a cold as he passed out in the front room. As soon as he’d tucked it firmly around him, knowing how prone he was to tossing covers off in his sleep, Izuna hurried off down the hall to his room.

It took some doing to find a candle that wasn’t completely useless, and with only one Izuna had to squint even more than usual as he unrolled the scroll. Unsealing the books was a second’s work, and then he sat with five or six tomes with various amounts of dust coating them.

He didn’t have enough light to make it through even one of them that night, but that would hardly stop him from trying. Eager to find some answers he flipped one cover open, making sure to take care with the old pages despite his impatience. Praying to the gods had never been a pass time of his but he found himself sending a quick prayer out into the void anyway, wishing for luck to take pity on him for once in his misfortunate life.

* * *

 

“Anything useful in all that shit?”

Izuna had to blink rapidly to focus on his brother, who was leaning against the door-frame to his room. He’d spent the last several days pouring over page after page, some of which had ink so faded he’d had to trace the outlines over with fresh ink just to make sense of the words thereon. It had left his eyes more than a little sore, and he rubbed at them then, still finding it far too difficult to see his brother properly.

“There’s a bit I think- here.” He motioned for his brother to sit down, shuffling around for the sketched out version of the seal Madara had done for him all those months ago. As soon as his brother had settled in next to him he pulled out one of his notebooks as well, filled with scribbled notes on all he’d found useful.

“As far as I can tell, this seal isn’t going to be in any book.” Madara’s worried scowl had Izuna shaking his head, pointing at a portion of the sketched out seal with his quill. “This part deals with time in some fashion, and since it connects to this one-” he circled one smaller symbol, having made enough copies of the seal to not worry about ruining the original- “I think it’s a timed jutsu of sorts. But the part that doesn’t make sense to me is that it’s done in _reverse_.”

Really, that part had Izuna stumped. After researching enough to feel confident in fuinjutsu creation theory - nowhere near confident enough to make anything advanced of his own, of course - he’d looked over the seal to find it worked in the exact _opposite_ as it should.

Maybe the structures were more fluid than had been presented in the tomes. He fiddled with a page of his notes, chewing his lip in thought. This seal was definitely created long after these books had been written; it was possible the master (for it simply _must_ have been a master of the topic who’d invented this seal) had found his own structures and theories to work with.

“How do you know it’s working in reverse?” With Madara’s brows pinched together so tight, it looked as if he might give himself a headache. Either that, or he was fighting one back already. As intelligent as Madara was, he had little experience in this field of study, something Izuna tended to forget about despite having taught him much of what he knew.

“It’s, ahhh, the flow of the symbols. They should be backwards.” A simplified explanation for the issue, but he’d only really dived into it less than a week ago. Izuna hardly felt ready to start his own school on the matter.

“Couldn’t that be on purpose?”

Izuna blinked at his brother, about to launch into probably a far too long speech on how there was little chance of actually _knowing_ or ever finding out whether it was on purpose without figuring out who the creator was first - when Madara picked up the sketch to squint at it further.

“What if it’s meant to do the opposite of...what’s it doing? Have you figured that out yet?”

“I’m not sure, but that…” He wanted to say that made no sense, but now that he thought about it there was a possibility he _had_ been looking at the whole mess backwards. “If it’s _meant_ to do the opposite, that would mean the jutsu itself is becoming undone instead of activating. Which is _possible_ \- but wouldn’t we have noticed a difference?”

“Fuck, maybe?” Madara tossed the sketch back on the desk, sneering at it in offense as if it was purposely keeping the answers from them. It would have been clear even without knowing his brother for coming on two decades how frustrated he was at knowing nothing - that he could _do nothing_ for his younger brother. It left Izuna frustrated in turn, tapping a finger against the notebook now sitting in his lap.

If the jutsu was unraveling itself, that meant it was already in effect - and he had no idea _what_ it was already doing to him. He peeked over at his brother, knowing full well he couldn’t hear where his thoughts were going but still not liking being next to him while they went there.

Maybe there wasn’t much he could do about the seal having been put on him to begin with, but if it was already reversing itself… Well, now it was merely a waiting game, and Izuna found himself far too impatient to play it anymore. Hopefully it wouldn’t cause too much damage when he hurried the seal along himself.

* * *

 

It was either luck or cruel fate that saw their clan head buried within the month. Unlike with the graves surrounded his father’s, Izuna found little reason to stand and mourn at it, waiting an appropriate amount of time before leaving the man to the past for more important matters.

The weight of the Uchiha now fell to Madara’s shoulders. From the growing shadows under his eyes he hadn’t slept since their father had actually passed, which meant several sleepless nights at the very least. He’d attended nearly non-stop meetings with the elders and other concerned clan members, inspected every one of their storage buildings (armory, weaponry, their stored emergency food, and more), and had walked through the infirmary several times to check on their wounded and dying.

More than ever, it was important that Madara’s presence was known. That his ability to lead was without question, and Madara was making certain of that with his every action and word.

It was perhaps a bit wrong to take advantage of his absence, but Izuna overlooked that quickly (burying even more guilt) as he did with most things concerning his brother. So much shoved to the side for later (or never), so much hidden from the one person he should entrust his life with above all others.

None of that stopped him from stealing away to his room, padding down the halls as quiet as if he wasn’t meant to be there. No one was home - he had no need to worry about anyone seeing him in his own home, no one to find him there besides ghosts of the long dead and his brother who was still off running the clan that had been shoved into his hands without warning. But he still kept silent as he entered his room, dark eyes flickering back and forth as he crouched down at his desk.

His seventeenth birthday had come and gone recently, with it coming a few new kunai and even more grey hairs. The kunai sat on his desk, unused and still in their wrappings. Yet another reminder of the brother he might as well be betraying, and he was quick to shove them off to the side, not wanting any more guilt than he already bore.

If all went well, then there was nothing to worry about anyway. He was _undoing_ the jutsu after all. Surely that would only do them good in the end.

He told himself that firmly. Repeated it as he unrolled a scroll he’d been working on nearly straight through the past few days, studying it with a critical eye for the hundredth time. Everything had to be perfect. Not a stray mark could be on the parchment; a single smudge could cause untold mayhem, and that’s something he and the clan at large simply couldn’t afford.

With his last once over, and a final scan of the compound to locate his brother - still in a meeting with the elders, still on the opposite end from the main house - and Izuna knew it was time.

In theory, the seal he’d created would trick the one located on the sole of his foot. By doing so it would speed up whatever process it was already undoing and make the transition near instant.

That was the theory, anyway. He bit his lip, staring at his own handwriting scrawling across the scroll. There was no way to test the _exact_ counter seal without simply testing it on himself - at least, he assumed so, and with his freedom hinging on the seal doing only the gods knew what to him already, he was willing to give it a shot and _be_ the official field test.

With perhaps a touch more stupidity than bravery, Izuna steeled himself, and activated the seal.

At first, nothing happened. Nothing beyond a bit of smoke from his own scroll, which dissipated quickly. Izuna was left staring down at both his foot and the scroll with bated breath, waiting with his heart frantic over all the untold potentials screaming in the fog of his mind.

Then, the seal darkened. It looked like fresh ink at its darkest, wet on his foot, and Izune was unable to resist running a finger over the lines that had haunted him for months now. His fingers stayed dry, but the seal was not unaffected.

It was working. Just as the seal had darkened it seemed to be running now, the lines distorting and no longer legible. Other than that, it seemed to have no effect on him, no explosions nor limbs lost nor mad hallucinations of any sort.

When the last line ran and faded to nothing, Izuna was ready to breathe a sigh of relief - ready at last to breathe in freedom, to be able to protect his brother in battle and aid his clan instead of continuing on as an imprisoned leech - when something in him shifted.

It was the only way he knew how to describe the feeling. Something shifting, something _wrong_. Not quite painful but not at all comfortable. A second’s decision had him pushing up to his feet, knowing the best thing would be to find Madara and explain what he’d done-

And then Izuna hit the floor, electric pain shooting through every limb, every fiber of his being on fire, body stiff and paralyzed from such agony he’d never known in his life.

How long he laid there, he couldn’t say. But it couldn’t have been long before his vision blurred and faded, unconsciousness taking him as his mind tried desperately to escape whatever horror was working through his body.

And somewhere miles away, far off to the south and over past the Nakano, a scream echoed in enemy territory - another soldier of war collapsing under the same pain.

* * *

 

Izuna groaned, his body protesting as he shifted on the tatami. His muscles ached, his eyes were sore, and part of him wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and not move an inch from the floor.

That was a non-option, of course. Even through the fog of remembered pain he could tell something had happened, and no matter that he didn’t exactly know _what_ he knew he had to get up.

With his body all but demanding to remain still, he decided to take stock of the potential damage there first. That, at least, didn’t involve getting up yet. Each stretch of a muscle or limb left him grinting his teeth and sighing after, finding the more he stretched the better he felt.

No injuries at least. No noticeable ones, anyway. He cracked his eyes open, greeted by the floor from where his face had met it rather harsh and sudden.

Passing out had not been penned into his schedule. He rolled his head to the side, spotting loose parchment that had been knocked off his desk. It was when he spotted the seal inked onto one that he remembered what had happened, and he had to physically restrain himself from shooting up at the memory.

It had knocked him out, whatever it was. He eased himself into a seated position, thankful at the very least that his head hadn’t cracked open on any of the objects scattered about his floor. That would have earned him more than an earful, and he really wasn’t in the mood for one of his brother’s lectures after finding himself unexpectedly unconscious.

Speaking of Madara… his brother’s chakra signature burned like a bonfire in the next room, though at the moment he couldn’t concentrate well enough to tell if the other man was awake or not. It was past dark anyway, the moon his only source of light; Izuna hoped his brother was resting well while he could.

It would probably be wise for Izuna to wake him though. No matter that he couldn’t tell what exactly had happened, no injuries to speak of, something _had_ happened. And along with being his clan head, Madara was the _one person_ Izuna knew he could trust - and was the one person who needed to know most that he’d removed the seal.

Not to mention that it might not end there. He grabbed his foot to squint down at the sole, spotting no black lines left on his skin. Visible or not, there might still be some effect they’d have to deal with at some point.

That being said, Madara had been having more than an awful time as of late. Running the clan had near aged him already, and any sleep would no doubt be a blessing. That, and Izuna knew by the way his head spun that he probably wouldn’t be able to explain himself, and that it was quite likely he’d just fall over again if he tried to walk the few short feet to his brother’s room.

With a single glance towards his futon, his mind was made up. Izuna didn’t bother standing or removing his clothes, simply crawling his way towards his bed and under the covers. Everything else could be dealt with in the morning after he’d recovered at least some of his strength.

* * *

 

Madara was already awake by the time sunlight filtering in through Izuna’s curtains woke him as well. His brother’s chakra burned bright in the kitchen, the first thing his senses picked up on beyond how drained his entire being felt. At least this time going unconscious had been on purpose, and hadn’t left him feeling even worse after.

Rolling over still took effort, still left him wishing he didn’t have to do anything more than simply melt back into his futon. Wishing wouldn’t change anything though, and there was plenty for him to discuss with his brother now that his mind wasn’t whirling in circles around itself. No putting it off now, no use hiding that he’d done something incredibly illogical and tackled the seal alone.

At least there should be food waiting for him. Madara might not be the best cook in their clan but his food was edible - a far cry from the blackened disaster that Izuna left every time he tried to cook for himself.

Footsteps in the hall alerted him of his brother’s approach, and he groaned low even as he pushed himself up. He managed to stand before Madara was knocking on his door, far too loudly for a pair of sensors.

“Oi, you plan to sleep the whole day away?”

Izuna rolled his eyes, stretching before rifling through his drawers for some clean clothes. “It’s not even noon, Aniki.” Not even close to noon, a glance towards the window told him that much. With his love of dramatics, his brother would no doubt do wonderfully in theater.

“Well, hurry up anyway! Breakfast is getting cold!”

“Ah, are you going to be home much longer?” Izuna blinked down at his arm as he spoke, a trick of the light leaving his skin paler than normal. Odd. He wiped at his eyes, not for the first time in his life regretting his poor vision. “I need to speak with you about the seal.”

“Are you decent?”

“Yes.” Izuna threw the fresh clothes onto his futon. Dressing could wait a little longer; Madara would probably be off to one meeting or another soon. Talking about the seal and how uncautious he’d been with the situation might put the both of them in a foul mood, but there was no guarantee his brother would even have time to discuss the matter later. Better to get it out of the way - and potentially get himself back in action, to start being useful to his family once more.

The door slid open behind him, his brother’s chakra filling the room in a way that soothed him like nothing else. Something about the familiarity of family had always put him at ease; he turned to greet his brother properly, glad for the time they could spend together even if it was mainly spent on clan related matters-

-and he found himself choking, a gloved hand wrapped tight around his throat, back crashing into the wall. Madara’s face inches away from his own, eyes spinning black and red, teeth bared and nothing but black rage to greet him.

“You dare show your face in my home, demon?”

The hissed words made no sense, but no amount of gasping could give Izuna the air necessary to say so. And Madara only clenched his hand harder, his grip not lessening in the least at Izuna’s desperate clawing.

Even in the haze falling around him, mind deprived of precious oxygen, Izuna found it a little odd that he was looking down at his brother. His feet still touched the floor, and there had never been a day in his life where he’d been taller than Madara.

A little late, he felt the familiar darkness falling around him. The light turned red, his throat released and body left to collapse onto the tatami, desperate gasping to fill his lungs.

He’d looked into Madara’s eyes. Of course he had; what reason would he have to ever fear them? When he glanced up at his brother, a foot crashed into his side, the genjutsu sending sparks of pain through him at the contact.

“Wha-”

“You’re going to answer my questions.” Madara towered over him, face harsh, tone cold. No warmth from his chakra to be felt, no familial safety in the cold red of the illusion.

His brother had pulled him into a genjutsu. Madara, the last remaining family he had, the one person he could trust with his life - had attacked him on sight, and left him helpless in an illusion too powerful for him to dispel.

“Aniki, I don’t understand.”

“Don’t call me- how do you have his voice?’

It was a command more than a question, punctuated by a foot pushing painfully down on his ribs. He had to gasp around it, limbs refusing to work, unable to raise his arms even enough to try in vain to push his brother away.

But the question made as much sense as the first. He had no one’s voice but his own, though that was failing him, lost with his breath and to the betrayal of his most precious person.

The very person who had promised to protect him, no matter that he hardly needed it anymore.

Madara didn’t like his silence. He pressed his weight down further, using his mastery of the world he’d created to summon a sword to hand, letting it cut through the air and hiss around them.

“How. Do you have. Izuna’s voice.”

Izuna’s...voice? His own voice?

Considering the position he was in, he really should have held back his snark. But he couldn’t help it, grimacing at the pain speaking caused him. “Who else’s voice should I have? Our cousin’s?”

“Don’t play coy with me, demon!”

The sword met his shoulder, piercing his flesh. His cry echoed around them in the empty air, in the false room that looked so like his own. Madara only sneered down at him, eyes spinning the same red that tainted the space around them.

“W-why don’t you know me?” It made no sense. His brother’s rage, his questions, the lack of any warmth left in the one above him.

He received no answers for what felt like hours. Time dragged on, a puppet to the master of the false world, and no amount of pleading or insistence seemed to convince Madara that his captive knew nothing of what he asked. And when Izuna was finally released he was sobbing, shaking from ghost pains from wounds that only existed in his mind, falling to the floor once more to lay at his brother’s feet.

“Izuna.” His voice was still harsh, but decades of knowing that voice helped him recognize the hesitance there, how uncertain Madara seemed as he spoke. “How are you… Why are you like this?”

He still stood over him. Didn’t make a move to bend down or check him over, to comfort the hurt he’d caused. Izuna managed to shift to his side with little pain, staring up at the now black eyes, finding them cold and hard as they stared right back at him.

“Why did you… Aniki, _why_?”

No answer beyond pursed lips, a flicker of red hot chakra. Madara glanced about the room, uncertainty flashing across his face.

“You sound like Izuna. You speak like him. And yet the Senju demon lays before me. How is this?”

The Senju demon.

He knew without further clarification of whom Madara spoke. White demon, he’d spat at him in the illusion, the same curse he’d spat like venom at the Senju heir - Tobirama.

Tobirama lay before him…?

Izuna shook his head, steadying his breaths the best he could. He didn’t dare try to sit up - not only because he lacked the energy to do so. No matter that Madara had released him, his shoulders were still tense, hands still loose at his sides. His brother would attack again without hesitation if he felt it necessary.

“I’m not Tobirama.”

What should have been an obvious statement, one so easily confirmed it could have went unsaid, only made Madara’s lips curl.

“Certainly could have fooled me.”

“I don’t know what…” They were going in circles. Nothing new stated, no new ground covered. Izuna took a deep, shaky breath, looking for a new angle to poke through his brother’s flawed logic, feeling left at the whims of a raging wildfire more than his own family.

“Chakra. My chakra signature, I can’t fake that.” He pleaded through gaze alone for Madara to see reason, to recognize the brother that lay before him. “It’s me, I- _the seal_. Aniki, I got rid of the seal, that must be affecting something.”

“You undid the seal?” Madara frowned further, but it held little anger. If anything it looked thoughtful, and Izuna felt the beginnings of relief trickle through him. His brother didn’t so much as twitch further than that for a few moments, considering him, studying him. Then, he stepped back, leaning over just far enough to get a look at his foot.

“How did you, supposedly, unravel it?”

“I made a counter to it. On the desk - or floor, I collapsed after and fell unconscious.”

Madara didn’t look entirely convinced, but he still checked the loose parchment scattered about. He picked one up off the floor, scanning it carefully despite the both of them knowing he knew far too little about fuinjutsu to understand it.

Then again...if he truly believed he was Tobirama, maybe Madara _didn’t_ know that he knew better. That in mind, Izuna shifted enough to see him more clearly, hoping that his next words would get him _out_ of trouble and not drag him further into it.

“Aniki, I know you don’t understand that. Pretending won’t fool either of us.”

The silence felt raw. Madara’s eyes flickered towards Izuna, and he was almost afraid to meet them. Afraid of seeing red once more, of the light bleeding into the room and finding himself trapped in yet another illusion.

Black greeted him, shut off but not spinning in red. Not perfect, not entirely comforting - but it was better than he’d gotten only a few short minutes before.

“Mirror.”

It didn’t register as a request at first; though, to be fair, it wasn’t phrased as one. He could only stare for a few moments, not finding himself quite brave enough to sit up just yet. Instead, he waved a hand slowly towards his desk, knowing his hand mirror (though rarely used) was probably still buried somewhere in the piles of paperwork thereon.

Madara found it quickly enough, though he notably didn’t turn his back to him. When he stepped back towards him Izuna had to resist the instinct to flinch, pain fresh in his mind and overshadowing the years of safety he’d felt in his brother’s presence.

Why he needed the mirror at all, Izuna didn’t really know. He could guess, of course; what with Madara’s insistence that he looked like the demon, he could assume his brother suspected he’d see the same. But whatever fever dream this was would surely be broken from a single glance, because Madara was wrong.

He was not the Senju demon. The one his brother called a white bastard - the one who bore his teeth at him as they crossed blades on the battlefield, swearing to cut him down.

He was not that man. He was Uchiha Izuna, and if looking in the mirror and seeing the truth would appease his brother in some fashion (even if it didn’t coincide with this irrational... _whatever_ this was that had infected Madara’s mind), then he was more than willing to do so and get this all over with.

But it wasn’t his face that stared back at him through the mirror.

Red eyes, so alike those of his kin but lacking the black tomoe. So alike those that held nothing but raging hate every time he’d seen them in the past, yet now they only widened in blank confusion and dawning horror.

It was too much. His body still ached from the assault in the genjutsu. That his brother had attacked him at all had his mind whirling and chest tight. The night before had left him exhausted and in pain even before this hellish morning, and Izuna certainly prized himself in being able to handle most anything thrown his way but there was only so much even he could take all at once.

The mirror lied. It didn’t matter at the moment how or even why, only that he knew who he was. And convincing Madara that he was still Izuna, no matter who he looked like, had to be his top priority.

Everything else, well. Problems for later, boxed away until his mind didn’t go blank with static trying to think on them.

He must have been staring for a while. Too caught up in sectioning off his troubles, he hadn’t even realized Madara had sat down next to him, keeping a steady eye on his reactions. As soon as he realized how close his brother was Izuna was doing the same in turn, all too aware that he wore the enemy’s face - it might be his home territory but it wouldn’t do to be caught off guard again before figuring out how to reverse...whatever this was.

“How can I prove who I am?”

That he had to ask probably wasn’t all that reassuring to Madara. But he’d already begged and pleaded for his brother to see reason until his voice went hoarse from the effort, even before seeing the false face that had been forced on him. Better to let him decide, knowing how much of a control freak his brother was.

“We talk.” Madara didn’t really look up to much conversing at the moment. Not that Izuna had much of a choice either way. He took inhaled deeply, hoping that it wouldn’t take long for Madara to realize who he was.

It didn’t matter that he wore Tobirama’s face, that when he moved it wasn’t his body that responded. That didn’t matter. Not at the moment, when his last remaining family still looked at him as an outsider, an intruder, mistrust heavy in the air between them.

If talking’s what would convince Madara, then Izuna was willing to talk until his voice gave out. Anything to feel safe around his brother again.

* * *

 

Tobirama woke up wrong.

His brother was kneeling on the floor next to his futon, a pinched expression making him look far too serious for his own good. If his head hadn’t been hurting so much he would’ve been tempted to snark at him, mostly over the invasion of his privacy - brothers or not, Tobirama had his own room for a reason, and liked to keep that space free of other people.

As it were, he didn’t feel like worsening his headache. Besides, Hashirama was an excellent medic, by far the best in their clan, and if he was already here Tobirama might as well take advantage of that.

“Nii-san, my head hurts.” He knew exactly how to pinch his brows to pull at his brother’s heart, and felt no shame in using his brother’s weakness against him.

His brother hesitated, which was not normal. Usually all Tobirama had to do to have Hashirama practically fawning over him was fake a bit of a pout. It took long enough for his brother to act that Tobirama got a little worried, wondering what had such an odd mix of confusion and pain on his brother’s face, but before he could demand to know what was wrong a calming palm met his forehead, the green glow dulling his headache in an instant.

With the fog of pain blown away, Tobirama let himself focus on other things. Like how he apparently hadn’t changed into his night clothes the evening before, how stiff Hashirama was next to him. Of course, the more he though on it, the more came back to him.

Tobirama scowled, sitting up and scrubbing some of the exhaustion from his eyes. Something had attacked him last night, though what exactly he couldn’t say. Whatever it had been, it had knocked him out cold. No wonder his brother was acting a bit odd; he had a habit of overreacting over the smallest of injuries, though the hesitance and near wariness were a bit new.

“I’m guessing you put me to bed then?” He looked over at his brother, resting his cheek on his knees. If he remembered correctly, he had been in the family room when he’d doubled over, which meant there were few other explanations to him waking up in his own room. Still, he waiting for Hashirama’s single curt nod to continue, tugging at some of his hair as he tried to figure out what had happened. “Did you catch anyone? Any leads?”

“No one else was here.” Hashirama shifted a bit closer, still on his knees next to the futon, still staring at him with an air of seriousness that the situation hardly called for. “What happened, exactly? I heard you screaming, and then found you like-” a flick of his wrist in gesture, his jaw setting harder- “ _this_.”

Tobirama tugged his hair out of the typical evening braid, shaking it out as he thought. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. Didn’t hear or see anyone or anything, just felt pain and…”

His hair was wrong. Now that it was loose, he caught a better view of it, grabbing a handful to hold in front of his face. “...did you dye my hair again?” It wouldn’t be the second or even tenth time, though it hadn’t happened since they were both children. Certainly wouldn’t be the best time to start back with childish pranks but Hashirama had been rather stressed lately. What with Butsuma’s illness having him near bedridden, a lot of the clan’s struggles had been thrust upon Hashirama, and as much as he’d been raised to lead them that amount of responsibility was hardly something anyone could fully prepare for.

When his brother didn’t answer at first, Tobirama looked back at him, long black hair slipping away between his fingers. Hair that should have been silver-white.

“Tobirama.” Hashirama’s voice was firm, the name spoken with a hint of something dangerously close to disbelief. “What did Itama say to us after Kawa’s death? About the war.”

It wasn’t necessarily the question that threw him off guard. Neither of them had mentioned Itama in years, the would fresh despite how long had passed since he’d joined their youngest brother in the family cemetery. His name brought pain with it, making him wince and dig his nails into the cloth of his pants.

“That those in their graves would find no rest without revenge.” It was paraphrased, he was sure. The exact words had been lost as many childhood memories had, replaced with battlefield after endless battlefield, screams of pain and horror and the clash of steel. But he remembered the sentiment well, felt it deep in his chest every time he choked awake on a sob, burying his face under thick covers as if to deny that the nightmares haunted him still.

Hashirama heaved a sigh. Not surprising in the least. He’d never agreed with what Itama had said, and had never understood why Tobirama refused to sympathize or empathize with their enemies. It didn’t matter if those who faced them also had families, also had little brothers and sisters they were willing to protect come torture or death. In the end, it was only Tobirama’s family that mattered, above all else - a selfish thought but he wouldn’t deny it all the same. That anyone besides Hashirama would lie and pretend they didn’t feel that way as well made him want to laugh.

“Tobi, I’m not sure what happened, but… Whatever it was, you probably shouldn’t leave the house for a while.”

His hand went straight to his face on instinct, feeling around for some gory wound that might have marred it up. Nothing new met his fingertips though, so that theory was out. “If you’re trying to protect me, I’m sure that, if I’ve already been attacked _in the house_ , keeping me here won’t actually make me any safer.”

Instead of responding right away, Hashirama took his arm, his grip a bit tighter than usual as he tugged him up and towards the bathroom.

“I tried to break the genjutsu, but- well, I’m not entirely sure that’s what it is.”

He didn’t like how serious his brother sounded. When his shoulder was given a light push he stepped into the bathroom, though he didn’t know why he’d been lead here. At least it gave him a chance to inspect his hair further, catching black in the mirror, knowing he wouldn’t like how it would make him look even paler-

He nearly attacked the reflection on reflex. Shock held him still, eyes wide and uncertain. The moment he gathered his wits about him he tried to dispel the illusion, disgusted by the sight before him and wanting it _gone_.

Genjutsu was one of his specialties, and not even denial could convince him for long that this was one. Something else, perhaps - it had to be. Because seeing Uchiha Izuna as his own reflection had no other explanation besides foul play.

At least he understood his brother’s hesitation now, as well as the question about their youth. Making sure he wasn’t the enemy. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away from the bastard standing on the other side of the mirror, turning to his brother.

“You said you found me like this?” An important note: his voice hadn’t changed. Whether that was on purpose or an accident he couldn’t tell, since he didn’t know the motive behind making him look like his sworn enemy.

Besides the rather obvious. Make him look like someone his brother and kin should kill on sight, especially considering where he’d been found - in the Senju main household. It’s not like he’d stand a chance against Hashirama in any sort of fair fight, even if his voice might have given his brother pause. And with Hashirama in that instance going for the kill, something Tobirama would _never_ do with his brother, he’d be taken out easily. Leaving Hashirama to potentially discover his mistake, the Senju clan then down their second strongest soldier, with their strongest mentally wounded from killing his last remaining brother.

Honestly, he’s quite impressed - assuming that was the intention. Luck for him that Hashirama had stayed his hand.

Though all of this meant Hashirama was right. He cursed under his breath, catching a glimpse of his false appearance in the mirror. No one in their clan would hesitation in such a fashion if they saw him now, meaning he’d effectively be out of commission until they figured this out. Which would hopefully be soon. There was little he hated more than the idea of being under house arrest.

“Any idea what this is?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t _be_ like this, nii-san.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, trying and failing to tear his gaze away from the mirror again. “You were right about it not being a genjutsu, at least.”

“Maybe it’s a sort of...body swap?”

“Body swap?” That ridiculous notion made him snort, and seeing his oldest enemy look anything beyond cold and angry felt so wrong he was finally able to tear his gaze away from his reflection. “I still sound like me. What sort of body swap wouldn’t change my voice?”

All Hashirama could do was shrug, understanding as little about the situation as his little brother did. Disbelief still tinted his eyes dark, jaw tight as he spoke. “What are the chances this _wasn’t_ the Uchiha…?”

That was new. Brows raised, Tobirama turned back to his brother, more than a little surprised to have heard the suggestion from him. He couldn't remember the last time Hashirama had given thought to the Uchiha being able to do _anything_ wrong, despite them being at war and constantly killing each other, and to hear it now in that tone made him think that maybe his brother was taking his position in the clan better than he’d hoped.

Still… As much as he loved to blame the Uchiha for most of his woes (mainly because they were the literal cause of them), it wasn’t exactly guaranteed they were the cause. He said as much, pulling at the ends of his currently black hair as he considered the other possibilities.

“It could be a neutral clan, or even a mutual enemy, trying to pit us further against each other. Or simply an enemy of ours trying to get rid of me.” Perhaps the most important piece of evidence was that they’d went to such lengths to make it _seem_ like the Uchiha were the ones at fault, though he wasn’t sure which way that particular piece of evidence leaned.

Hashirama looked less than convinced. He just stared at him, switching between a blank, unreadable expression and one that pulled the corners of his mouth thin. Clearly, he was the one taking it the worst between them - and it wasn’t even his ugly mug that had suddenly changed.

“Stop worrying. If you keep your face all pinched like that, it’ll stay for good.” Tobirama rolled his eyes, trying his best not to let his brother’s mood pull him down. Sure, he looked horribly wrong, but he was still himself - and it couldn’t take all that long to get him back to normal if he still sounded and felt like himself.

Could it?

“You can’t let Otou-san see you like this.”

It sounded like a warning. Tobirama pursed his lips, knowing full well that it _was_ one. Potentially on his death bed or not, Butsuma was not one to hold back, and unless he wanted to have to kill his father he’d be staying as far away from him as possible.

Not to mention that their father technically held more sway in the clan than Hashirama. His word weighed heavier, and if he demanded Tobirama’s head there would be little the elders or soldiers could do but obey him.

Well. At least he’d have Hashirama on his side if it came to a fight.

“Duly noted, Nii-san. Now, can I eat, or are you going to lock me in the bathroom all morning?”

Hashirama’s smile was tight, and didn’t reach his eyes. It was still a marked improvement to the twisted face he’d been wearing, so Tobirama took it as a small sort of victory. He gave his brother a slight shove, taking care to keep his movements obvious and slow just in case his appearance would trigger any reflexes. Food would make the morning better. It would give him more energy at the very least, which would be needed in boatloads to deal with whatever mess had so rudely fallen into his lap and messed up his face and hair.

* * *

 

It was becoming increasingly and horrifically obvious that whatever had happened to Tobirama was permanent.

He was laying on his futon, glaring up at the house spider working a web into the corner of his room. Black hair laying over his shoulders and on his chest. He refused to look at it, tempted to shave his head despite being quite fond of the clear statement long hair made for a warrior.

Logic told him the simplest solution was the most likely. With genjutsu out of the running, and little chance some nefarious body swapping jutsu had been created, he was left with few other options.

The hint of black eyes in the mirror over the past year, as well as the black roots he’d seen, were clues he’d rather ignore if he were honest. But he’d never been one to lie to himself, no matter if it would make his life easier.

If the simplest answer was the most likely…

His lips curled further, thoughts pushed to the side for later. Even if he wouldn’t lie to himself it didn’t mean he had to deal with it immediately, and he left his room in favor of finding a distraction.

As luck would have it, one was waiting for him in the kitchen. Hashirama sat at the table with a fresh pot of tea, a stack of parchment in front of him and a quill in hand. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, more than physical exhaustion dragging his face and mood down in equal measure.

If Tobirama hadn’t been taking the situation well, his brother had been consistently taking it much worse. Hardly able to look at him, even then, keeping his eyes focused on his paperwork, his lips drawn thin and serious.

“Father’s still not woken up.”

Tobirama settled himself onto a cushion, not quite opposite his brother so as to not force his comfort to the side. “When was the last time he woke up again?”

“Three days ago.” Hashirama spared him a single glance, noticeably avoiding meeting his brother’s eyes. A habit of warring with the Uchiha - one that had probably spared the both of them dozens of times over the years. It still made Tobirama’s stomach churn, the evident mistrust aching in a way he couldn’t even describe. “His fever’s only gotten worse.”

At this rate, he doubted he’d ever hear good news again. No matter that he’d never been close to his father, Butsuma’s time ‘better spent’ on his duties rather than with his children, it still hurt to know his days were numbered so few. Something that Hashirama refused to admit himself, no matter that the evidence was piling up against their clan head.

Soon, Hashirama would take that title completely, instead of just being the regent stepping in for the ill. Tobirama didn’t envy him that promotion.

“Nii-san, I’d like to see him.” For the most part, he was asking out of courtesy. Sure, heading to the infirmary as he was wouldn’t be the brightest idea but he could still sneak his way there with little problem. But Hashirama _was_ going to be clan head, and his change of sorts had already put considerable distance between them; he new better than to do anything behind his brother’s back whenever his loyalty was already subconsciously in question over his appearance.

“You know why that’s a bad idea.”

Tobirama missed when a simple watering of his eyes would instantly get him his way. With Hashirama refusing to even really _look_ at him, using such tricks weren’t possible. He huffed instead, drumming his fingers on the table to get rid of some of his frustration.

“He’s family, you know. _My_ family as much as yours. I have just as much right to see him, and I’d rather do so while I still can.”

“I don’t think he’d see it that way.” The words were spoken with care, Hashirama staying focused on the parchment he was signing. Despite the almost soft tone Tobirama twitched, not at all liking what his brother was hinting at.

“Just because I _look_ different doesn’t mean I’m not still his son.”

“I know that.” For the first time that gods awful morning Hashirama fully looked at him, face sincere but finally softening just a little around the edges. “Really, I do. But I’m not so sure Otou-san will feel the same.”

Tobirama pursed his lips, wanting to argue even while knowing his brother was right. If his sinking suspicions were even close to being true, there was no way their father would accept him anymore. That being said, it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to see him. He leaned forward, resting his chin on one palm while trying to think of a better angle to get his way.

“He’s not woken up for a while anyway. There’s a chance he won’t even know I’m there.” He made sure not to sound too pushy, keeping a hint of hopefulness in his voice, knowing how weak his brother was to it. With Hashirama opening up to him at last, even if just a little in his expression, he was going to use it to his advantage as much as possible.

If the slump of his brother’s shoulders was anything to go by, it was working. “But what if he _does_ wake up? What then?”

“Henge?” Tobirama shrugged, stealing a bit of his brother’s tea. Too sweet for his taste, but the caffeine was a blessing. "Doubt anyone would see a reason to question me walking around as myself.”

“We really need to figure this out…”

Tobirama rolled his eyes, tempted for a moment to wad up one of his brother’s papers to toss at his forehead. “You think I haven’t been trying? I’m not exactly fond of looking like this.”

“Why Izuna, though?” Hashirama leaned forward, nose wrinkling in the way it always did when he was thinking too hard. “Why him, specifically? It could have been _any_ Uchiha but it was _him_.”

Tobirama didn’t really want to answer that. Not that he had any concrete evidence to support his growing theory, but the more he thought about it the more convincing it seemed - which was why he’d been so adamant about _not_ thinking about it in the first place.

Lying by omission was just as bad as being overt about it, he knew, but avoiding this particular issue certainly sounded better than facing it head on.

He’d have to face it eventually.

“Did you ever think it was odd that I had an affinity for fire?” He stared down at the wood table, tracing some of the dark lines there with his finger. “I’m the only one in the clan who does. Plenty can use genjutsu but I’m also the most skilled there.”

“What’s so odd about all of that, exactly?”

“Normally? Nothing, really.” He shifted on his cushion, not at all comfortable with where his own thoughts were going. “With how I look now? Like an Uchiha, with an Uchiha’s fire affinity, and an Uchiha-like skill in genjutsu…”

His words trailed off with a shrug. As if he wasn’t suggesting the single most terrifying thing he could think of, blase like it didn’t affect him at all. It left a terrible taste in his mouth though, and not entirely from disgust at his mortal enemies.

If he was right, and _was_ an Uchiha by blood… He felt light headed thinking on it, peeking up at his brother to search for answers in the strong and steady earth before him.

He didn’t exactly find comfort there. Not then, not with Hashirama’s face pinched almost painfully, as if a wound had torn into him. He watched as his brother took several deep breaths, swallowing back whatever emotions were swelling within himself.

“Are you suggesting that-” Hashirama ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends- “that you _are_ Izuna?”

Hearing it aloud made him flinch. Tobirama jerked his head to the side, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. But no matter how much he didn’t want to continue this conversation, he owed his brother as much - even if he was starting to believe they might not be related at all.

“I can’t say for sure, but I think it’s possible. We’re around the same age right? Izuna and I. Maybe something happened when we were younger - it would have to have been when we were very young, since I don’t remember ever living anywhere else.”

Hashirama’s face twisted, a rare spike of anger darkening the air around him. “What happened to Tobirama then?”

It hurt in a way he’d never felt to know Hashirama wasn’t speaking of him. To hear him say that name and know it wasn’t his, not really, not at that moment. Tobirama did his best to hide that pain, shaking his hair and glaring at the black strands that fell in his face.

“Possibly with the Uchiha. Maybe that body switching theory of yours wasn’t that wrong after all.”

“So they kidnapped him?”

That, at least, Tobirama found ridiculous. He rolled his eyes, fixing his brother with a heavy stare. “Did you, or Otou-san or Kaa-san, kidnap me?”

“Not that I know of, but I must have been young too!”

“You were _just_ saying that I shouldn’t see Otou-san like this. Now look me in the eye and tell me he would have raised an Uchiha _willingly_.”

Hashirama notably did not say that. Tobirama still let it sink in a little longer, ignoring the voice that sounded just like Touka’s in his head saying he’d always had a flare for the dramatics.

“You know he wouldn’t have. And I bet the Uchiha are on the same page in that at least.”

“You’re not an Uchiha.”

Tobirama sat up straight at those quiet words, considering his brother for a moment. He wanted to agree with him - but knew his blood would speak otherwise.

He really wasn’t ready for today. Not at all for this revelation of sorts, to find himself suddenly forced to admit he might be kin with those he’d fought and felled. Nothing disgusted him more than that prospect, using his blade against family even without meaning to.

“Are you planning on seeing Otou-san today?”

The change in topic was as much a relief to Hashirama as it was for himself, his brother visibly deflating. “Yes, in a little while. With Hikaru-san busy on labor watch I’ve been taking over his care. As much as I can, anyway.”

“And you’ll let me come with?” Tobirama held back the triumphant grin at his brother’s nod, successfully putting off the mess of his life for later. Much later, if he had any say in the matter, because he had a feeling the situation would be getting a lot worse - and honestly might not ever get better or easier at this rate.

* * *

 

Izuna was going stir crazy.

Every time his brother left the compound, he was left pacing. He’d spent too long sitting around doing nothing, not able to assist either his clan or his brother. Even thoroughly convincing Madara that he _was_ his brother hadn’t convinced him he could help in any way, being practically shackled to the house with orders not to set so much as a toe outside - not even in henge.

His brother swore up and down someone in the clan would notice he was using one. He doubted so personally; the only way they would was if he got something wrong, and since he’d been Uchiha Izuna _his entire life_ he knew no one else would know how he looked better.

Madara hadn’t wanted to hear any of that. Hadn’t really wanted to listen to anything he said, too focused on how wrong he looked, anger and pain swirling in his eyes.

To be fair, Izuna wasn’t keen on being in his company at the moment. It’s part of why he paced then, staring out the window to their backyard, feeling his brother’s chakra rage on elsewhere in the compound. Evening was coming upon them and he knew his brother would be home soon. And ever since the seal had been broken Madara had kept an ever keen eye on him - whether he was doing so consciously or not, Izuna wasn’t sure, but after being pulled into the depths of his brother’s genjutsu that intense gaze made his skin itch with worry.

It didn’t help that Madara had legitimate reasons to doubt his loyalties.

He longed for the days that his biggest worries were faking katon ninjutsu and possibly never awakening his sharingan.

At the first sign of his brother’s chakra headed his way, Izuna left the living area, making his way down the hall to his room. No matter that his legs demanded he walk, that his brain longed for some stimulation beyond what he had here. He knew without trying that he couldn’t take another minute of his brother’s company, of the regret and anger and disbelief so clear in his every movement, in the tone of his voice.

It was difficult enough to come to terms with not being himself. He didn’t have the energy to help someone else through the same revelation.

* * *

 

The war didn’t wait for him.

Izuna was laying on the floor in their living room, eyes shut tight, mind and senses far off on the battle he could feel raging at the edge of his range. His brother burning hotter with anger than ever before, the mass of chakra clashing with his own sharp and darker than normal. Their struggle was jagged, a hurricane of emotions he couldn’t identify at that distance but he knew they were intense, drowning out most all of the other soldiers battling at their sides.

He tried to reach and find his rival - to locate Tobirama, who would no doubt be taking advantage of his absence to target Madara. Feared that without him there to ensure the power balance that it would tip dangerously in the Senju’s favor, against his last brother.

No matter how hard he searched, how hard he strained, he couldn't find the other. By the time his brother and the rest of the war party came limping home blood had started to stream out of his nose, his body exhausted from the effort of stretching himself too thin.

He had been useless. Remained useless as his brother patched himself up, grunting and rejecting Izuna’s offer to help.

Izuna saw the flicker of red in Madara’s eyes. The hesitation, the mistrust. Backed away without arguing, letting his brother be - and wanting beyond anything else to be useful, and to have his brother back.

* * *

 

He should have felt guilty the first time he slipped out. Finding refuge in the forest so near their compound, camping out under the oaks and pines. It was a betrayal of Madara’s trust, after all, something he’d all but shat on in the past as well. But after so long feeling caged in his own home Izuna only felt relief at the sunlight filtering through the canopy, the cool breeze on his skin, the wildsong echoing around him.

He never went far. No more than a mile or so, keeping a close tab on his brother’s chakra. It felt like a chain of sorts, knowing he wasn’t truly free at all, no matter that he’d managed to sneak away. It also did nothing for his sense of uselessness, of being the weight that had no purpose, no use to his clan anymore.

At least out in the woods, that weight eased, no longer compounded by his brother’s mistrustful gaze.

It was a flare of chakra that changed his habit. Angry, all fire, several miles southeast. There and gone in an instant, too fast for him to place a name to it, but curiosity had him heading in that direction anyway.

When he reached its location, no one was there. The river ran peacefully without any other witness beyond him, the late evening sun glistening on its calm surface.

He stayed for a while, crouched down and letting the sound of water ease his thoughts. Something about the place tickled at his mind but he pushed the nagging feeling aside in favor of relaxing while he could, feeling more at home here near his natural element than he’d felt in a long while.

Madara still hadn’t noticed his absences, too worn and run thin by the war effort and running their clan. Izuna made sure to get back home at a decent hour all the same, doing his best to help his brother in small ways: leaving the house clean, polishing Madara’s armor, sharpening his weapons, preparing easy meals for his brother to reheat when needed. He made it home before dusk that night and prepared a fresh meal for dinner as well, glad at least to find some ways to help - and glad that his cooking had improved enough to be edible now.

Madara came trundling in only a handful of minutes after Izuna had finished cooking. He dropped down at the kitchen table without even bothering to keep an eye on the practical impostor under his roof, head resting on folded arms and a loud groan expelling his woes.

“Meeting go poorly?” It was a guess, even if an educated one. Madara had near nonstop meetings, and his chakra hadn’t once left the compound while Izuna was away.

At first, all he got was a noncommittal grunt. He went about setting the table instead of pushing for an answer, a bit overly happy to be trusted with the man’s back - though admittedly throw off by it, after so many weeks of feeling at least one eye on all his movements. It made him fight against his shinobi instinct to move silently, purposely putting a little more weight into each step, placing the bowls and plates down just hard enough to make muffled sounds.

It wasn’t until Izuna was seated as well that Madara raised his head, looking as if he hadn’t slept for several days straight. He still didn’t speak for some time, going through the motions of eating without seeming to take in what he was doing.

“The Hagoromo broke our alliance.”

That certainly explained the dour mood. Izuna set his chopsticks down, more than a little surprised at the news. The Hagoromo had been a long standing ally against the Senju, an alliance formed generations back; to hear they had broken said alliance could only mean ill on the Uchiha’s future as a whole.

“Have they aligned with someone else then?”

Madara shrugged, finally noticing the tea placed next to him and draining it, pinching his face at the lukewarm temperature.

This did not bode well for them. Izuna sipped on his own tea, mulling over the loses their clan would take.

Of course, the Hagoromo had never been the most affluent of clans, but there had been plenty of trade between them. Weapons the Uchiha would now have to buy, drawing from their already lacking finances - Tajima had never been the best at managing that aspect of his leadership, and no matter that Madara was better at it he’d still been left with very little wiggle room at the start.

The simplest solution would be to find another ally, though simple hardly meant easy. Building clan relations took time, as well as money and resources, and with the war and the natural short life expediencies of shinobi those relations could sway drastically over only a few short years.

Stability was what they needed. Not just for the clan, but for Madara’s rule. Izuna studied the slump of his brother’s shoulders, the darker shadows under his eyes. There was no telling how the clansmen were taking the news, assuming word had already spread. More than ever Izuna wished to walk among them if only to catch any potential whispers of doubt.

New leaders weren’t always taken well. Madara might be powerful but he was also bull-headed and irascible at the best of times, not at all known for sugar coating his opinions of people either. It would take some luck for this news to not reflect poorly on his leadership - even if there had been nothing he could do about the betrayal.

Not that Izuna could do anything to help sway the clan’s opinion one way or the other. Neither could Madara, not at the moment anyway, and especially not if he continued to stay as exhausted as he was.

“Go sleep. You look like death.”

Surprisingly enough, that’s exactly what Madara did, with little more than his usual grumbling as he went off down the hall. Izuna lingered in the kitchen a little longer after he’d gone, absently wiping down the table and counters while he pulled at the loose skin on his lips with his teeth.

He needed to find out how his absence around the compound and in battle had been taken. He needed to know how the clan was fairing with the shift in power, and needed to find a way to be more useful. But at that moment, he had no answers nor solutions, and would find none in the dark grain of their counter tops.

* * *

 

Tobirama had sensed him.

Habit had him itching after only a week of staying in a henge, the false mask grating on his nerves. No matter that it made him look more like himself, like he’d grown so used to being, keeping it up was a nuisance at the best of times. At the worst, it reeked of a lie, and even if lying had always come easy to him he hated to wear a false skin around Hashirama.

The woods had become a refuge. Several miles away from his home, far enough there was little chance any of his clansmen would stumble across him. Close enough he was confident he could make it back come trouble. Most importantly, secluded and quiet enough to think through his dilemma.

On some level, he knew who he was. Just as he knew the trees he passed had taken root before his birth he knew he had not been born a Senju.

Knowing and accepting were two different things, and he found himself far too good at compartmentalizing for his own good. It might keep him together but it was a fragile sort of connection to the past, him clinging on to the last threads of what had made sense to him for so long.

It would do him, nor anyone else, no favors in the long run. So Tobirama walked and thought, breathing in the air of the forest, the scent of wild flowers and pollen and dirt, trying to pick the locks he’d placed in his own mind with care and _accept_.

He wasn’t the only one who found themselves wandering near the river.

Tobirama was not a sensory type by any means, but he would have been a sorely lacking shinobi if he couldn’t feel that chakra. Even with it dampened he was too focused to miss it, too fine tuned into that specific signature to ever overlook the slightest wisp of it around him.

His hand was at his side in an instant, pausing in the thick of the woods, considering his options. Izuna _was_ a sensor, and the likelihood Tobirama had gone unnoticed was low if he’d caught wind of the other with considerably less sensing skills. So far away from Uchiha lands (or, at least, where they’d always _assumed_ the Uchiha compound was located, having yet to accurately place it on a map) meant Izuna couldn’t call for backup easily, but there was no guarantee he was alone. And Tobirama _was_ alone, likewise several miles away from his home territory.

Any fight between them wasn’t guaranteed to end in his favor. He scrunched up his nose in the Uchiha’s general direction, shifting his weight as the breeze rustled the leaves above. Worse even than the uncertain outcome was his own personal hesitation.

He shouldn’t hesitate with an enemy. But he already was, and even if he could logic it up to healthy caution he knew on some level that there was more to his hesitation than that.

Turning back to head home so early hadn’t been his plan. It’s what he did anyway, wondering for the first time something he didn’t yet want the answer to:

If he now had the face and body of Uchiha Izuna, did his old rival now see the face of Senju Tobirama reflected in the river?

* * *

 

It wasn’t the second time. Nor the third, the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh. Tobirama hadn’t kept track of how many times he wandered towards the woods, catching a hint of the Uchiha there, his chakra steady at the river’s edge. Each time he considered finding the source, chewing over whether to cut it short or finally sate his driving _need to know_.

Each time he turned back home, pacing in his room in the Senju household, fighting with the knots he’d tied his mind into.

Maybe he didn’t hold the key.

It certainly wasn’t his smartest move, approaching the Uchiha at the river. Following the hints of chakra to their source, knowing full well he’d been sensed too. Taking no backup with him, wearing no armor, only the comfort of his usual blade and the hidden kunai to keep him company as he went off to face his lifelong rival, entirely uncertain of everything he’d find there - but knowing he _would_ find the answers he was still hesitant to accept.

The chakra didn’t waver as he drew near, his footsteps always light but growing ever lighter once the sound of moving water rose up to join the birdsong around him. His heart beat too loud in his chest, breaths inaudible but still deafening in his own ears.

What would he find waiting for him? Whose face would he see?

The trees were near mocking as they swayed, their peace at odds with the mayhem of his mind. Lucky for them he didn’t feel quite like burning down the entire forest yet.

Still no definite signs that his approach had been caught, even as the tree line came ever closer. Even as he crouched behind an oak and studied the odd wavering signature only a couple dozen yards away, with only a single tree trunk and empty space between them.

A single glance wouldn’t kill him, but he suspected it would destroy him in some way. He shifted anyway, more than anything wanting to force open the boxes he’d nailed shut himself.

On some level, the Uchiha looked nothing like he’d expected.

The parts were there. Pale skin, white hair, red eyes. Typical Uchiha clothes with features that belonged elsewhere, water chakra finally matching the body it was held in. But something still felt _off_ about the man crouched at the riverside, gaze focused on the quiet water, an expression he’d seen over and over on his own new face every time he braved a glance in the mirror.

It took a bit more time than he’d like to realize why, and by then Izuna had pulled out a weapon. A kunai, slowly tilted back and forth, catching rays of sunlight to send them scattering across the water.

Reflections never looked identical to real life. Tobirama had only ever seen that face in reflection, and it was just off enough to make it feel _different_ , not quite the man he’d seen himself as over the near two decades he’d lived in that skin.

Something else was off about him. The way he studied the water, how he slowly spun his weapon in hand. Tobirama had excellent vision but even he couldn’t completely read that face from such a distance, couldn’t quite figure out why his rival was so still - or why he’d made no move to suggest he’d sensed his unwelcomed company.

The jerk of Izuna’s hand came sudden, and Tobirama’s own found the hilt of his sword before he could fully process the movement. By the time he noticed the trickle of red another jerk had a matching cut blooming across Izuna’s other cheek - Tobirama saw his rival’s lips moving as well, though the words were lost to the distance.

A third mark on his chin, this one slow, blood dripping down his face and into the water. A final word muttered to the empty air, offered along with the wound, Tobirama knowing nothing of whatever ritual his rival was performing but knowing significance when he saw it.

Izuna’s gaze grew sharp, cutting over to the tree line, focusing on where Tobirama was hidden in the brush. No more words were spoken, nothing but the breeze and flowing water, insect and birdsong playing in the background as they all but stared each other down.

The Uchiha broke first. He stood up slow, deliberately so, blood dripping off his chin into his high collar. Neither made a move for their weapons, neither flashed hand signs. Tobirama didn’t so much as twitch until Izuna was long out of sight and sensing range, finding himself drawn to the riverside and crouching where the grass had been pressed down by the weight of the other.

A poor copy of his rival stared back at him, inexact in its reflection. No matter how he twisted or turned to examine his face it never matched the one in his memory, only poorly imitated it.

He went home uncertain but without regrets, unashamed despite letting an enemy walk away unharmed. It was hardly possible to betray his clan anyway when the man he’d let leave was a Senju by blood.

* * *

 

It took a bit longer than Izuna would care to admit to realize where he’d been visiting.

The river had been a turning point in his life, as well as in others’. It was where he’d estranged his brother and betrayed his trust, and felt his own trust broken in turn. Where he’d first seen the face staring back at him now, knowing on sight it would hold meaning to him but having no hope of guessing its exact significance.

Now, it’s where he came to think and be alone, without actually _being_ alone most of the time.

Tobirama had started showing up more often than not. Neither spoke to the other, the Senju never even coming out of the trees and into view, observing in some fashion without interfering.

What exactly Izuna was supposed to do with his company, he didn’t know. He was grateful that the Senju didn’t approach him at least, letting his presence become a periphery understanding, allowed to focus on his own issues instead of dealing with anything else.

The cuts on his cheeks and chin itched, scaring as they healed, each one a connection to the names etched into his heart. Knowing the blood relation had been lost to his late brothers had cut in a way that left him empty, and the markings changed little of biology but at least made sure he’d never forget those lost and what they’d meant to him.

In actuality, he knew it was rather silly. An action born of desperation and anxiety that changed absolutely nothing. But seeing them soothed a part of his being, and that in and of itself was enough to not regret them.

Yet again, he wasn’t technically alone with his musing thoughts. Tobirama’s chakra burned like fire not far from him, the both of them having quickly discarded any facade over hiding their presence.

Its feel gave him pause still, finding it lacking the turmoil he’d come to expect, so alike his own. It burned with a different intensity then, in a way so familiar yet just foreign enough that he couldn’t quite place the emotion fueling it.

He didn’t need to. Tobirama stepped out of the shadows, face set hard and arms loose at his side. With hardly any time to process seeing his past reflection approaching Izuna soon found himself little more than a yard or two away from his rival, Tobirama’s mouth twisting into some sort of scowl or sneer.

“You ruined it.”

Hearing Tobirama’s voice coming out of that mouth shouldn’t have been shocking. It fit his chakra still, his expression still. Yet it sent a jolt through Izuna all the same, making it even harder to make sense of his words.

“Ruined it?”

“My face, you prick. You ruined my face.”

They shouldn’t be talking. Izuna shouldn’t be anywhere near the man in front of him, the one glaring at the marks on his cheeks. But he responded anyway, a sad pit in his gut as he looked away towards the tree.

“It was never your face.”

“Never my- it was mine for nearly _two decades_! You’ve had it for, what, a few months? And you’ve already made it ugly.”

Izuna found shock melting into frustration quickly, glaring right back at the shorter man - and that was certainly something he’d need to get used to. Towering over Madara had been odd enough, now he did the same with the man he’d always been irked about having to look up at.

“You wore it, yes, but it wasn’t _yours_. Idiot.” It was perhaps a bit unfair to insult him over this. He had no idea how much Tobirama had figured out, and Izuna himself only had a cursory understanding of the matter - so much left beyond his knowledge and possibly lost forever. But he’d been far too stressed as of late to care for staying polite with someone he shouldn’t even be associating with in the first place, and wasn’t even about to start question the relief he felt when Tobirama did the same in turn.

Well. Hardly ‘in turn,’ seeing as Tobirama had thrown the first insult, but semantics.

“So you’re going to claim my face then? What next, you going to steal my name too?”

Tobirama’s teeth were bared. But his eyes held none of the fury his tone suggested, his stance still loose and more relaxed than anything else. He seemed to be watching Izuna carefully, watching for his reaction, and if Izuna didn’t know any better he’d say the accusation was a test.

Except...did he know better? Could it be a test of sorts? If so, what answer was Tobirama looking for?

Izuna didn’t really have the patience for such games either way. Breathing for a few moments kept him from snapping back again, though his words were tight when he responded. “The name was never yours either. Not really, not at birth. I’ve always been-”

Something clicked. A mechanism in his mind that had been fitted together already but had been kept from working. The information was not new, not at all; it was old, kept in a corner and fought back even while he clawed towards it.

He felt a little breathless, staring passed the man in front of him, the world underwater.

“I’ve always been Tobirama. A Senju. And you have always been Uchiha Izuna.”

Tobirama found it difficult to focus enough to judge his rival’s reaction, though if he was being honest he didn't really care how Izuna took it. It was the truth. And the truth never cared whether or not one wanted to keep it - eventually, one way or another, it would hunt one down and force them to face it.

In the end, Tobirama found himself standing alone by the river. When exactly Izuna had left, he couldn’t say. He went back to the Uchiha compound shortly before dusk, sneaking back into his home and dropping down onto his futon to stare patterns into the ceiling.

Somewhere, several miles south and a little to the east, a full-blooded Uchiha existed in the midst of Tobirama’s own blood clan. Both of them far from their families and yet not far at all, and even though Tobirama had no idea what had brought them to this point he knew full well there had to be _something_ their positions were meant to do. Something that could bring meaning to their situation. It was simply a matter of finding that something, and he wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that finding it by himself was practically a non-option.

He scowled, rolling over to bury his face into a pillow. At least there was little chance of someone following them to the river, no matter the irony of it all. Besides, exactly how much trouble could he get in for speaking to one of the late head’s own children?

* * *

 

Tobirama had honestly expected Izuna to avoid the river for a while. His visits had never been quite as frequent as his own, and their... _confrontation_ of sorts hadn’t exactly ended on the highest of notes.

But Izuna was standing in Tobirama’s usual spot when he arrived, his back to the approaching Senju. On purpose, no doubt, stating quite clearly that Izuna feared no surprise assault.

At least Tobirama was used to dealing with prickly Uchiha. He rolled his eyes, approaching his rival with an equal amount of confidence, stopping only a few feet away to stare out at the river.

It was the first of many quiet hours spent there, hardly a word passed between them. In many ways it was no different from the weeks Izuna had stayed in the shadows, except now he was almost always the one there first.

Quiet had never been a word he’d thought to use for the other. Even when he’d thought Izuna a Senju the man had been far too much fire to not burn the air with snarled words, yet he found Izuna to be more than capable of standing in silence for however long he wished, sharp eyes cutting away and always watching.

He couldn’t help it. Tobirama constantly weighed Izuna’s behavior against what was familiar to him, comparing the man to his blood brother. Spitting snark was something he definitely shared with Madara. Neither of the Uchiha brothers’ intelligence was something to scoff at either, though Izuna’s was much more obvious in many ways. Their power as well, something he’d known for years yet never thought to compare between the two, always pitting Izuna against himself instead in his mind.

It disgusted him to think of Izuna and Madara fighting. Not necessarily out of any ill placed loved for his river watching companion, but from having no idea how Madara might react to seeing his little brother’s face again.

Would hee freeze up out of shock? Leaving himself open for a potential surprise and fatal strike, taking the only family Tobirama had left (no matter how false in blood it might be) from him for good?

It was something that haunted him far too often around the lost Uchiha. That the man sitting beside him could take his clan by surprise, infiltrate and take it apart from within. Sure, his chakra would be a giveaway, but it would only take a few seconds of confusion to slip passed even Madara’s stellar guard.

No matter that he sat next to Izuna and relaxed near daily for weeks. His trust went no further than the river’s edge, and especially not when it came to his family.

Trust wouldn’t assure him of anything. But trust wasn’t the only way to ensure someone wouldn’t fuck him over. He’d studied enough politics to know trust wasn’t what formed alliances.

Izuna’s goals remained a mystery. His presence was practically a known factor at this point, constant as it was whenever Tobirama managed to get away from his home prison. But his ambitions and even his reasons for being there were hidden behind ever watching eyes that tracked his every movement.

The steady calm of his chakra didn’t suggest foul play, though skilled enough shinobi could learn to fool sensors. His lack of visible weapons meant little as well, as did the lack of traps in the area. Overall, Tobirama couldn’t assume anything of the situation, and the lack of information left him irritated and unable to successfully plot to keep both his brother and clan safe.

How, exactly, was he supposed to offer Izuna something more appealing than a chance to take Madara out when he knew nothing of what the other might want?

* * *

 

Tobirama was an infuriatingly closed book.

Admittedly, Izuna knew people spoke little when unprompted. He had long ago learned the wonders of carefully phrased compliments, and how useful sake was as a tongue loosener. But near two decades of being one’s enemy would make flattery come off as stale and false, and no one even half as smart as his rival would trust any drink coming from him in their situation - no matter if he actually planned to poison it or not.

What information he had expected to gather wasn’t really even clear to himself. Any would have been useful if taken to the right people, and Izuna had started a web several years back just to be certain he’d always have contact with _someone_ who could make use of whatever intel he gathered.

But, really, he already _had_ enough information to upset the power balance in the Uchiha clan. Their heir was gone. Someone else, some _Senju_ , existed in his place. That alone could cause enough upset to allow a skilled infiltrator to do their dirty work - especially since they’d recently gotten word that Tajima had indeed passed, as they’d believed he had, and any shift in power would leave chinks in a clan’s political armor.

So why was he drawn to this damned man then, so intent on studying him?

Izuna wrinkled his nose, tossing a rock into the water to watch it ripple. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew why. He just didn’t want to think about how pitiful the answer was.

“We’re in a unique position, you know.” Izuna stubbornly didn’t allow his surprise to show when the other spoke up, keeping his focus on the water. At least the reflections let him judge Tobirama’s expression, watch the way he carefully worked out his words, how closed off his eyes remained. “Technically speaking, we’re both from two separate clans. We have close ties to both.”

“Blood isn’t everything.” Izuna watched the other’s eyes narrow, though he looked more frustrated than anything else.

“The Uchiha are your family by blood, and family is everything to the Uchiha.”

Not exactly something Izuna could deny. Family had always been one of his highest priorities, possibly even _the_ highest, even after his bloodline had come into question. That didn’t mean he had to admit it, sniffing instead and side-eyeing Tobirama.

“Who said I accept my heritage again? Just because I _look_ like an Uchiha doesn’t mean I want to _be_ one.”

Of course, it didn’t matter what he wanted. He knew that. It’s what had stayed his hand after all, knowing the Uchiha were his blood and that the man next to him was Hashirama’s blood in turn. No matter if his brother wouldn’t admit to it, he wasn’t exactly a closed book. The way his shoulders tensed at any mention of the Uchiha now spoke volumes; Hashirama had noticed the lack of either heir on the battlefield, and suspected the real Tobirama was with the Uchiha - or dead.

Even if Hashirama never found out the full truth, Izuna couldn’t take Tobirama from him. No matter that Hashirama acted as if he wasn’t constantly heaving longing sighs and staring out the window like his real little brother would just come waltzing on into sight.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, you _are_ an Uchiha.” The echo of his own thoughts was snipped at him, a scowl dragging across Tobirama’s face. “We both are, just as we’re both Senju.”

“Doubt the rest would see it like that.” He didn’t mean to sound bitter. Really, it didn’t bother him at all if the Uchiha never accepted him, even if they were technically family. It was the Senju that bothered him. He had to be on constant alert whenever around anyone besides Hashirama, not even able to trust Touka with the truth - and that burned more than most anything else ever had, not being able to trust one of his closest cousins.

Speaking of the truth… “What exactly happened, anyway?”

Tobirama ran a hand through his hair, staring off at the treeline. “Did you ever notice a seal on your body? Any pattern or design you hadn’t put there yourself?”

“Ugh, just get to the point, I don’t want a story.”

“It’s an important question, I’m not trying to tell a story!” With his teeth bared like that, eyes alight with frustration, Tobirama almost resembled the man he used to cross swords with. “There was a seal on my foot that apparently kept me looking like you. After it darkened enough for Madara to copy it, I started working on a counter seal - and once I removed the original seal we reverted back to how we were supposed to look.”

“And why couldn’t you copy it yourself? Hand not steady enough to write?” It was an unimportant detail, but falling back on snark always gave Izuna time to think. He hadn’t ever noticed a seal on his foot, but maybe his hadn’t been in the same location. At least he had little reason to doubt what Tobirama said - something that surprised him a bit still. Normally he’d never trust another shinobi’s word so easily unless they were Hashirama, who would rather eat his own clothes than lie to _anyone_ , friend or foe.

All Tobirama did was send him a seething glare, clearly not amused, before continuing on. “The fact that we’re from rival clans is reason enough to give thought to the purpose of switching us. That we would’ve both been heirs to our respective blood clans leads to two possible conclusions.” He paused then, adding as an afterthought, “Actually, there’s at least two dozen conclusions one could come to, but most are far too asinine to give much thought beyond that.”

“Do all Uchiha waste time on useless details, or is that just a knock-off Uchiha thing?”

“ _Knock off Uchiha_?”

Pushing the man’s buttons probably wasn’t the best idea. Especially one that caused the tension he now felt coming off of him in waves. But Izuna had never really gotten out of the habit of picking at potential insecurities, and finding one in Tobirama that hit so close to home felt just a little too much like scratching at a fresh scab for him _not_ to take advantage of it.

Either way, he refused to back down from his insult, lifting his chin at the second seething glare sent his way. He easily met and held Tobirama’s gaze, challenging him to hurl an insult back - part of him it. Trading blows would come much easier than sitting here try to converse with his former enemy.

It was a bit surprising that Tobirama backed down so easily. He was the one who had been interrupted, the one trying to tell Izuna something, and whatever it was had to be important for him to lose any metaphorical ground over it. That didn’t mean he let the slight slide, his eyes still narrowed though his glare shifted elsewhere.

“My point is, _Izuna_ , that there was a _purpose_ for what happened to us. And that purpose was either to destroy our clans or save them.”

Whatever Izuna had been expecting, it was far from that. He blinked over at him, the wind pulling at their hair as he searched for a hint towards the leap in logic.

“That’s a touch dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Not if you just _use your head_.” Tobirama turned back to stare at him, the same set to his jaw that Hashirama got when he was being particularly stubborn. “Think on it. How would the Senju react if they found you in their compound, as you are now?”

It was rhetorical. Both of them knew how their clan would react, just as the both knew the other’s would react the same.

Tobirama frowned, his tone losing its harsh edge as he continued. “Since you’re still alive, I don’t feel it necessary to ask how Hashirama reacted.”

“Those reactions aren’t exactly equivalent to ‘making or breaking the entire clan’.” If Izuna hadn’t had a suspicion on where this might be headed, he’d say Tobirama was being over-dramatic. Not something he’d ever thought of him before, but theatrics ran in his blood - one afternoon in Hashirama’s presence would prove that without a shadow of a doubt.

“On their own, no.” Tobirama’s expression turned a touch sour, his nose twitching ever so slightly. “But if we were found and killed in our clans, believed to have been intruders, there’s little that could have calmed the blood-lust that would have followed. Likewise, if one of us were to use this to our advantage.”

The breeze sent ripples across the water, disturbing their reflections. Izuna knew he wasn’t wrong, knowing all too well how useful a few seconds could be for assassin work. And there was little doubt Hashirama would be stunned at the sight of his brother’s face - and even if Madara wouldn’t react exactly in the same fashion, it would be easy to assume others in the Uchiha clan would. A few seconds of confusion, and the tide of war could crash in the Senju’s favor. The fact that there were _two_ of them meant that it would be less a tide and more an implosion, leaving the Uchiha and Senju both vulnerable and unraveling from the inside-out.

Unless one of them was taken out along the way, both of the clans would be destroyed.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Izuna’s hand, which had been unconsciously twitching towards a hidden blade, paused at the softer tone. His brow furrowed at the odd turn of the conversation, instinct keeping him on edge in case it was only a diversionary statement to throw him off-guard.

But Tobirama had ever been a contrary man, even now determined to prove his instincts wrong. No twitch of his muscles suggested foul play, his words genuine even if a bit hard.

“We’re both. Uchiha and Senju. Maybe not both by blood, but we’re in a unique position nonetheless. Who else could claim to have strong ties to both clans? To have reason to _protect_ both?”

“Protect both? Have you forgotten we’re at war?” Something easy to lay to the side when it was just the two of them. Definitely something they _shouldn’t_ be ignoring, though Izuna was finding it increasingly difficult to reach for that well of spite and seething rage that he’d always called upon when thinking of his enemies.

There wasn’t really a way to protect both sides, not in his mind. No matter how they moved forward there would always be a give-and-take, always be one overshadowing the other, until one was erased or they both were destroyed.

They were at war. They had always been at war. No amount of wishing for better would change that.

“Precisely. We _are_ at war.”

He said it like it meant something. Izuna waited for a few moments for him to continue, one eyebrow raising higher the longer the silence continued. But instead of following up Tobirama just stared at him, as if he’d already given him all the answers he might need.

“You didn’t socialize much as a child, did you?”

Ignoring his quip, Tobirama finally had the decency to explain himself - though if the facial twitching was anything to go by he didn’t appreciate having to.

“We’re at war, and we haven’t killed each other. Not once have we even raised a weapon in offense while meeting here. If two people who were raised as rivals, who have fought time and again on the battlefield, can put the war aside, why can’t the rest do the same?”

“You can’t just expect people to let the war go.” There was no denying that _they_ had. Even without speaking, without any meaningful interactions up to this point, they had put the blood feud on hold every single time they came here. But that didn’t mean anyone else could do the same. “You said it yourself: we’re in a unique position. We have ties to both clans, and some of those ties are shaky and metaphorical at their best. No one else in our clans can boast the same.”

That couldn’t be refused so easily. With his lips  pursed, Tobirama pulled at the fur clasped around his shoulders, no doubt chewing over a potential argument, an angle to work against the logic thrown back at him.

It was sound logic, though Izuna knew that he was partially wrong all the same. While the two of them were unique in their positions, their connection to their blood clans meant that there were two others tied to both the Senju and the Uchiha. Two others who had once failed at putting aside their heritage because of familial ties, foiled by very ones that now met at the same riverside.

A snort tore itself out of Izuna. He hadn’t even realized before that moment, but that’s exactly where they were. At the same riverbank, meeting behind their clans’ backs like runaway children tired of the war.

It hadn’t worked then. It barely worked now, with neither of them ever fully relaxing around the other.

But, then again, Hashirama was a first class idiot. Madara was no doubt as well, since they’d gotten along so easily. And even if the two had had suspicions back then who the other was they hadn’t really _known_ what they were getting themselves in to.

“Hashirama misses you.”

That certainly startled Tobirama out of his thoughts. Though Izuna didn’t give him time to question the statement, pulling his ponytail over one shoulder to pick at the dead ends. “He won’t admit it, but I can tell it’s tearing him to pieces. Every time he comes back from fighting your stupid Uchiha, he looks even more exhausted than before. They’ll have matching bags at this rate.”

Nothing about this would be easy. It couldn’t be, with centuries of bad blood and rotting corpses in their way. But Izuna only had one brother left in the world, at least of the ones he’d grown up knowing, and if he could do _something_ to help ease Hashirama’s troubles then he would fight tooth and nail for it if need be.

“He’s always been a hope-struck fool, so convincing him shouldn’t be too difficult - though not necessarily easy, considering the suspicion that you were kidnapped as been haunting him. The rest of the Senju won’t be so willing.” Not even Touka would want to listen to him, no matter how close they’d always been. Izuna glanced over at the other, finding at least a bit of light amusement in how startled Tobirama looked. “You do have a plan for breaking through the Uchiha’s thick skull, right?”

“You actually believe we can do this?”

“You know, not believing in your own plan isn’t very assuring.”

“Are you sure Hashirama would be willing to go along with this? The rest of the Senju as well?’

“Why do I get the feeling you didn't think you’d get this far?” Izuna shook his head, not giving him a chance to answer - not that he’d likely get a meaningful one anyway, what with that startled daze still clouding Tobirama’s face. “Look, focus on your own idiots. Figure out your problems, and I’ll figure out mine.”

The gods only knew if he could convince Hashirama for sure. Maybe with Tobirama’s face he could have, before the suspicion had clouded Hashirama’s ever reaching dreams - and without having a non-incriminating way of confirming Tobirama was still alive, it would be even harder. But his brother wasn’t the only one with a stubborn streak in the family.

Before this, Izuna hadn’t wanted the war to end, had had no reason to stop trying to avenge his lost little brothers. Now, if memory served him, he had lost brothers on both sides of the war, so no matter which side he took he would be betraying _someone’s_ memory.

He didn’t bother staying any longer, leaving his unlikely accomplice to his thoughts and strategizing. Izuna had plenty enough to think about on his own, and immediately grabbed some lavender candles from his brother’s study upon sneaking back into the household. Nothing could calm his mind better than the calm flicker of small flames and the light scent of flowers, and he spent the rest of the night in deep meditation, working around his web of intel to find the right strings to pull to get his way.

* * *

 

“We can’t just assume they’ll never resort to war again, you know.”

Izuna lay on his back in the grass, arms folded behind his head as he watched the storm clouds overhead. The scratch of Tobirama’s quill pause at his words but he didn’t gauge his reaction, too busy drowning in his own thoughts on the matter to care how the other took it.

Weeks had passed since they started plotting against their own clans. For their own good, perhaps, but few could argue that it was anything but blatant treason - and Izuna had never been one to lie to himself on purpose. At least they’d managed to headway in their plans but more problems always arose eventually, far more than a few nudges here and there could fix.

The whole point was to permanently end the war and pointless bloodshed. Mostly just to ease the guilt of fighting family on Izuna’s end, though he wasn’t an idiot and saw the merits of limiting deaths and injuries. Less soldiers lost meant less money spent in at least a dozen different areas, and less families split by bitter grief.

But there was no guarantee the war would end for good. Not with their current plan of nudging them all towards a peace treaty.

Izuna rolled over onto his side, propping his head up to stare at the man staring back at him. Tobirama had a bad habit of chewing on the nib of his quill when thinking and he was doing so then, somehow not at all affected by the taste of ink - which had to be awful.

“The Senju aren’t exactly the best at keeping historical records. We’ve only recently started documenting everything on fire resistant parchment, and _resistant_ still doesn’t mean _fire proof_.”

“You’ve found fire resistant parchment?”

Izuna flapped his other hand in gesture, scowling at him. “Not the point, stuffy scholar. Focus.” The fact that Tobirama had to force himself to focus on the actual topic made Izuna almost snort. Apparently being a ‘genius’ meant getting distracted by every small thing one hadn’t heard of before.

“Look, my point is, we’ve been at war for _centuries_. And in our generation alone we know of two instances of Uchiha and Senju trying to put aside that conflict - one of which failed horribly.”

“So you think it’s happened before?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, picking at the grass beside him. “Almost everyone is at war in some fashion, everyone but the all high and mighty trinity. No one quite as vehement about their feuds as us, maybe, but we’re all looking for the first chance to stab a back to protect our own.”

Tobirama lifted his feet out of the water, pulling them up close to his body. “What else could we do besides a peace treaty? It’s as binding a thing as we have besides familial ties, and we’re not likely to see anyone willing to cross-clan marry within the next few decades - if ever.”

“Fuck, I don’t know! You’re always on about how smart you are, you think of something.”

“I’m not ‘always on about’ anything of the sort, I’m not narcissistic.” By now it was easy to recognize the lacking bite to his snark, Tobirama more reacting by habit than actually wanting to bicker or fight. The nib of his quill was right back in his mouth afterwards, mumbled words slurred further around the metal as he thought aloud to himself.

At that distance, Izuna probably could have paid close enough attention to read his lips, but he didn’t bother. It would only be half coherent thoughts and rabbit hole logic while Tobirama followed his own disjointed mess of a mind. He flopped back down on the grass instead, waiting for Tobirama to come up with some sort of plan while trying to work it apart himself.

Meditation at least came easy in his presence nowadays. Probably not the smartest idea to let go outside of the compound, but it wouldn’t be the first time he left himself a tad too open around Tobirama.

Not that Tobirama knew that. Izuna might not be much of a liar, but it wasn’t really lying if neither of them ever brought it up. Besides, it was always harder to trust someone when they _knew_ you trusted them.

By the time Izuna had made any headway on the problem he’d brought up, the storm clouds looked ready to burst, humidity hanging around them in a fashion it usually only did in the rainy season.

“You know,” Izuna rolled back onto his side, giving Tobirama a moment to focus back away from his own thoughts, “I hate when you’re right.”

“I’m right all the time, you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“What was that about not being narcissistic?”

All Tobirama did was raise an expectant eyebrow at him. It took a bit more self control than Izuna would care to admit not to stick his tongue out at him like a child.

“There’s no guarantee the Senju would ever fully put aside the war without a stronger tie to the Uchiha. Not for good, anyway.”

“You’re not about to suggest inter-marrying, are you? Just because I trust you doesn’t mean I trust _your whole clan_ with one of my cousins.”

Izuna was about to return the snark, ignoring the undertone if legitimate concern, before he got stuck blinking at the other man.

Sure, he recognized he trusted Tobirama. Far more than he should, considering he shouldn’t trust him _at all_ . But he had no intention of _telling_ him that, and hearing an admission was something he hadn’t ever expected from him.

Best to think on that later. He shook his head, firmly ignoring the bit of pink on Tobirama’s face, forcing his thoughts back to more important issues. Relentless teasing could happen _after_ figuring out how to bring their clans closer together.

“Marriage can’t be the only way to strengthen ties between clans. As far as I’m aware, the trinity aren’t constantly marrying each other - if they were, they’d all have the same name by now.”

“What else is there?” Out of lingering embarrassment, Tobirama refused to look at him, leaning back on one hand to stare up at the sky as Izuna had been only a few minutes before. “As far as I know, there’s no other system or legal documents in existence that could set us closer. And even if there was, there’d be no guarantee they’d last any longer than a normal peace treaty.”

“In existence _yet_. Fuck, we’re already breaking precious social norms, why not break the whole system as well?”

“Just saying ‘profound’ stuff like that doesn’t magically fix our problems.” Tobirama turned to scowl at him. “Though, I do see your point. How exactly are you suggesting we ‘break the system’?”

“Not sure.” At Tobirama’s irritated glare, Izuna could only shrugged. “Look, all I know is that we’re looking at it wrong. Working within the current laws and shit isn’t getting us anywhere. Your precious documents aren’t going to help us because what we need doesn’t _exist_ yet.”

He looked a little too offended about his documents being insulted. But he did finally put his quill down at least, shifting full body to face Izuna.

“Create our own system… I do hope you’re not suggesting we overthrow the government.”

“Oooo, yes, but only if I get to be the next shogun!” Tobirama didn’t look very impressed with his humor, but that didn’t stop Izuna from shooting him a cheeky grin.

“So not that much of the system being destroyed. Another layer down would be the clans, but I doubt abolishing the clans would do anything besides cause untold mayhem and kill us all faster than the war.”

“Okay, maybe ‘destroy the system’ wasn’t the best way to put it then.” He tossed his hair back over his shoulder, frowning. “Maybe just… Find a new way to work _within_ the system. Our clans need to have some sort of tie that’s going to last, and barring the trinity no such ties exist yet. And we don’t exactly have centuries to build up a tie like that.”

“So become sister clans of a sort?” Tobirama scratched at one of the fresh scars on his cheeks, not looking at all certain of the idea. “The plan was to do this within a few years at most. I’m not sure even allied clans could put in that much commitment in such a short amount of time.”

“Right, but we’re trying to find a _new_ way. You’re an inventor; invent something!”

“I invent _justu_ , not things on this scale! And jutsu creation is about logic and science, following guidelines that already exist. I can’t exactly put both clans in a lab and poke at them to see their reactions.”

“You would if you could, wouldn’t you?”

“There’s no escaping you idiots, is there?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “You get my point. I invent within limitations, tinker with what I already know works to improve upon it.”

“Our clans exist. Our personal alliance exists. And we know of at least one instance where neighboring clans can create long lasting bonds without it destroying their individual identities.” Izuna scratched at his own cheek, adding in a faux flippant tone, “There’s your research and limitations, now tinker away.”

“Why do I even bother speaking with you?”

“It’s my pretty face, isn’t it?”

That apparently didn’t warrant an answer. It was probably for the best since thunder started to echo around them, the storm finally ready to break.

Like so many meetings before, they went their separate ways with more questions and fewer answers. Izuna snuck back into the Senju compound, not even bothering with a henge as he slipped into the shadows and ghosted his way back to the main house. He managed to make it home before the storm hit and a good hour before Hashirama, who looked no less stressed and worn than his new normal.

The twist in his gut from seeing his brother had become a lot easier to live with. It was a betrayal Hashirama had done to him before, meeting with their enemy, and that had been more out of a personal, childish desire for a normal friendship than anything else.

It was for him. He told himself that while looking away from Hashirama’s strained smile, ignoring the evident pain in his brother’s eyes at still finding Izuna in his home instead of Tobirama. It was for Hashirama’s own good that Izuna was betraying him, and he refused to think any guilt from doing so had any merit.

Someday, his brother would have Tobirama back. Maybe not in the same fashion as before, maybe never entirely. But in the end he’d have two little brothers to dote over, and Hashirama could hardly find a complaint in that to pout over.

* * *

 

Tobirama was ready to start punching things.

Not necessarily an effective route, since years of living with Madara had proven punching didn’t solve every problem. But since his brother so often resorted to violence first he could hardly get angry at Tobirama for punching him in his idiotic face.

He had to take a deep breath, bare back against the cold wall of his room. For whatever reason, Madara had decided to work from home the past few days, making sneaking off to plot with Izuna nearly impossible. As far as he could tell his disappearances hadn’t been noticed, but knowing that didn’t make being trapped in the house again any easier.

Really, they needed a way to contact each other other than just face to face. He shifted a bit to press further against the wall, the cold surface cutting through a bit of the muggy discomfort floating in through his cracked window.

Without a way to tell Izuna he wouldn’t be there, there was no way for the other to know _why_ he wasn’t there. If only Madara hadn’t gotten rid of his hawks he could maybe train one of his own, but wishing for the past to change wouldn’t do him any good.

He thought nothing of the heavy footfalls coming down the hall, so used to Madara’s stomping and far more comfortable with it than a completely silent home. It was a bit surprising when his brother stopped and knocked on his door, though he didn’t bother waiting for a response before cracking it open.

“The meeting with the- why on earth are you half naked?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Might as well be comfortable.” The way his shoulders had to unstick from the wall for him to shrug was rather disgusting, but he ignored that. “What’s this about a meeting?”

“Apparently, the entire council needs to have their heads knocked against some walls.” Madara sneered, leaning a bit further into the room. “They were sneaking around behind my back! Now I have to go meet about a dozen ‘potential brides’ and find a way to _not_ set the council on fire in front of them.”

“Poor Aniki, having to play nice.” Tobirama got the distinct impression something would have hit his head if Madara had anything to throw, and he had to hide a grin as he continued. “At least a marriage would bring us an ally - I’m assuming they’re from fellow shinobi clans. We could use that after the disaster with the Hagoromo.”

“Don’t care. Not interested.” He gave Tobirama a once over, his scowl deepening as he did so. “Put some damn clothes on, you’ll blind someone.”

The door was slammed shut before Tobirama could so much as blink at the comment, Madara’s stomping continuing on down the hallway accompanied by his usual grumbling. Who, exactly, he was going to blind while stuck at home he wasn’t sure, but his brother’s snark didn’t much matter in the long run.

Any meeting with the council usually dragged on for some time. If they had a dozen or so marriage candidates for Madara to meet, the stuffy introductions alone should last a good hour or so - plenty of time for Tobirama to sneak off himself and see if Izuna was at the river.

He threw a shirt on and waited for Madara to leave, following his chakra signature until it settled to seethe deeper in the compound. After that Tobirama was off, loving the feel of free air despite how horrid the weather was.

Like usual, there was no telling by sensing alone if his accomplice was waiting for them. They both knew well enough to conceal their tracks, despite having slacked for a while in doing so. Tobirama himself taking a different route every time he made his way to their meeting spot to cover his destination. He went further south this time, finding the river and following it back north while sticking to the treetops, keeping an eye out for potential traps or straggler shinobi in the woods.

Izuna was waiting for him, though not in plain sight. He was leaning against a tree just within the tree line, his foot tapping impatiently where it was propped up on the bark.

“Where the hell have you been?” No sooner had Tobirama’s feet touched the grass was Izuna snarling at him. He wasn’t given a chance to respond, Izuna pushing himself away from the tree to march towards him. “It doesn’t matter. Just hear me out.”

“Ah, okay.”

“We were only considering a portion of the system. If we had been looking at the whole thing, we would’ve found the answer easily.” He stepped even closer, nearly in Tobirama’s space, eyes alight and grin wide as he tilted his head to stare up at him. “Civilians. They have strong inter-family ties. They have to for their towns to run properly - living in close knit communities _forces_ them to work together.”

“A community.” Tobirama’s brows pushed together at the thought. “How, exactly, would two shinobi clans emulate a community like that?”

“Probably couldn’t, to be honest.” Izuna shrugged. He didn’t look in the slightest like his idea had just been proven ineffective though, if anything he looked a little more manic. “Besides, it’s not _just_ the community. It’s _the whole town_ \- and it takes more than two families to make one of those.”

“You want the Uchiha and Senju - two _warring_ clans - to basically move in together?” It sounded insane. Even more insane since he was actually considering the idea, wondering what exactly Izuna was on to.

“We need something that ties them together tighter than a peace treaty, and what better way than making them dependent on each other.”

“If one falls, the other weakens to the point of breaking.” Tobirama stared off past Izuna, crossing his arms as he thought on it. “That many potential volatile shinobi in close quarters could end in disaster, but we’d be able to watch over the interactions. And if we could convince Madara and Hashirama to see the potential…”

“Then we’d have the four strongest known shinobi standing in-between the potentially self-destructive idiots.”

“It could work.” With tweaks, of course. Lots and lots of tweaks. To create a sort of symbiotic relationship, there would have to a give-and-take, an enticing enough environment to appeal to all parties - and if they _really_ wanted to emulate a civilian town… “We’d need to draw in more than just the two clans. Give them a reason to stay and not eventually move again. Civilians perhaps, if only to create a wider foundation.”

“Oh, how brave, inviting defenseless civilians to the party.”

“You’re insufferably irritating.”

“And yet you suffer me.” Izuna shrugged, taking a moment to fix his ponytail. “Don’t you think it would be easier to handle all those ‘volatile shinobi’ with competent moderators? Civilian services will help but they’re also potential casualties and war fodder.”

“So your solution would be to throw in even more shinobi.”

“Preferably non-volatile ones, but yes.”

“We couldn’t simply trust random shinobi to moderate each other.” That being said, if they created some checks-and-balances, and recruited people they knew they could trust… “Exactly which clans were you considering, or were you generalizing?”

Tobirama regretted not snagging some parchment before running off earlier. By the time he had to leave they’d managed more brainstorming than in the past few weeks combined, still far off from a solid solution but _finally_ having enough for this idiotic plan of theirs to feel legitimately possible.

It would take time. Just to convince Madara to give it a shot might take months on its own, and if Tobirama wasn’t careful about it he might start to suspect foul play.

At least he knew how to be careful. Patient when it was absolutely necessary, and this was something he knew would be worth taking his time over.

Madara didn’t come home until well after sundown, exhausted beyond measure, too much so to check his expressions. The troubled flicker when he looked at Tobirama only steeled his determination further.

He might be too stubborn to admit it, but Madara needed to know what happened to Izuna. To know how he had grown up, who he had become. And no matter how many times Madara might call him by that name it would never feel right to either of them again.

* * *

 

It took nearly a year to convince Madara to consider any sort of peace talks. Nine months to be precise, the whole while the two clan heirs continuing to meet in secret and hammer out the obvious kinks in their plan. There was no accounting for human nature of course, no truly knowing what might happen until it _did_ happen, but by the time the two clan heads met on neutral territory to speak Tobirama was certain they’d prepared for all they feasibly could.

Staying behind in the compound stung. Even more so knowing that sneaking off to meet with Izuna was a non-option since it would leave both of their clans vulnerable. He ended up pacing until Madara came back home, a little early and definitely irritated - but notably not making a beeline for his weapons and armor.

It was initially concerning how aggravated Madara was after every meeting with the other clan head. Though it became increasingly clear with every meeting that it was nothing for Tobirama to worry about. After decades of dealing with Madara it was easy enough to spot the growing fondness behind his griping, and any worry of their past friendship not rekindling fell to the wayside as the peace talks progressed further and further.

Eventually, the clan heirs would have to join the talks. It was inevitable, no matter that the Uchiha clan believed their heir to be… Tobirama wasn’t actually sure _what_ excuse Madara had used to explain his absence, actually. Nor did he have any idea how they would explain his sudden appearance at the meetings - or explain his new appearance in general.

When the day finally came, he found there were far too many unanswered questions over the whole ordeal for him to feel anywhere near comfortable about it. Still, he got ready and stood shifting his weight in the living room, waiting for Madara to finish dressing himself. Would Izuna be there as well? He could only hope so; revealing only one of the clan heirs would be an awkward affair.

“Henge for now.” Madara was still wrangling his hair into submission when he came down the hall, having woken just a half hour before they needed to leave. Sleeping for as long as possibly, as usual.“You’ll be able to drop it at the meeting - we’ve already discussed both you and, well. The other one.”

“And will ‘the other one’ be there?”

Madara only shrugged in response, though his nonchalance was belied by the tightening of his eyes. It was promising to be a long day for them all, then.

It wasn’t until they’d left the compound and started towards the meeting place - somewhere to the east, though the exact location had changed from meeting to meeting if Tobirama’s sensing abilities were anything to go by - that the full scale of what was about to happen hit him, his feet hitting a branch just hard enough to propel him forward more than intended.

Hashirama would be there, along with Izuna. All four brothers, in one place at once. Tobirama hadn’t really allowed himself to think on what it would be like to meet his blood brother _as_ his brother but now he found himself about to do just that, and it was all he could do to force himself to remain calm.

How would Hashirama react to seeing him? What names would they even use for each other? What titles? A flicker of whipping and wild hair in his periphery made him wonder the same about Izuna and Madara, how that meeting would be handled with Madara’s brash nature and Izuna’s habit of relentlessly picking at sore spots to see how people tick.

They should have discussed this further. Why is it that _this_ never came up in their planning?

It was too late to turn back now. The massive earth energy headed their way told him they’d at least be at the meeting place first, which would give him a bit of time to get comfortable and force the whirlwind of thoughts assaulting into something a bit more manageable.

The meeting place was little more than a clearing, no tent or sitting area or anything of the sort in place for them. With that being the case, Tobirama chose to wait for the other party up in a pine, watching Madara and a few other Uchiha mill about as he focused in on his brother’s chakra, letting the familiar bonfire drown out the rest of the world and steady his nerves.

The Senju arrived less than a half hour later. It was long enough for Tobirama to find his calm but not nearly enough to prepare for the meeting, thinking over the few talking points that were meant to be covered in the talks that day and firmly pushing the more emotional related topics away to deal with when they happened.

Izuna, it turned out, hadn’t even bothered with a henge. Silence fell over the Uchiha as the Senju appeared in the clearing, Izuna right at Hashirama’s side with his head high, as if it was where he belonged. There was little point in keeping his own up if Izuna was going to arrive so bold, so Tobirama dropped it right before dropping to the ground, making his way to stand at Madara’s side in turn.

He found really quickly that he didn’t like having Hashirama’s attention. The man was a god on the battlefield, and having that sort of power behind a stare left him feeling far too vulnerable, even with the Uchiha powerhouse at his side. No matter how many times Madara had spouted on about Hashirama’s idiotic behavior there was no denying that the man could easily outpower Tobirama, something he rather didn’t care to think about. He had his own rival, who matched his strength and skill quite well. He was used to having Izuna’s attention, and he’d rather keep it that way.

“Well? Are you going to set up or not, Senju?”

“Oh, right. Yes.” Hashirama physically shook himself, though it seemed to take even more willpower to stop staring at Tobirama. With a few hand seals Hashirama erected a wood tent of sorts for them, complete with a table and chairs - though the pillars and a few of the pieces of furniture had some growths here and there, twisting out and continuing to grow as they sat down to begin the peace talks.

It was a stiff sort of meeting. None of the theatrics Madara had spat on about occurred, and the air only felt tenser with the stilted talk shared between them. Izuna for his part remained quiet, leaning back in his seat and watching the Uchiha party in that way of his that made it look like he wasn’t watching at all. Eventually they had to break, if only to allow Madara to cool himself after getting heated over a discussion of exact territory lines - the elders had been on his back since the beginning of the peace talks over extending Uchiha land to take over the current no-man’s land, and fighting to instead section it off fairly enough for the Senju to agree on it _and_ that the elders would finally lay it to rest had left him in a bit of a fit.

While both parties moved off a respectable distance from the other, both Izuna and Tobirama delayed near the table. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing for them to do but both moved at the same time, standing off to one corner of the tent together.

“Have you spoken to Hashirama about our village plans?” Not meeting in private nearly as often the past few weeks left plenty for them to catch up on, and though doing so with several shinobi in the area wasn’t ideal Tobirama couldn’t help himself.

Izuna stretched his arms and back before answering, looking all the world like someone who’d been bored to death recently instead of intently collecting as much information as possible. “Yes, and I already know you’ve at least mentioned it to your idiot as well. As far as I’m aware, it’s only been brought up in passing, though no one important spoke up too much against it.”

“At least there’s that.” Really, he’d hoped to have more done by now. He knew logically that everything was moving relatively fast but that didn’t mean Tobirama didn’t want it to go by _faster_ , despite having only recently been thrown into the deep end with coming face to face with Hashirama.

“They think we’re going to stab each other.”

A glance at both parties confirmed that easily enough. Both groups were stiff and silent, watching the two as if just waiting for one of them to make a wrong move. Admittedly, it felt a little odd to have so many people distrusting their peace after spending so long building up trust between him and Izuna.

Not that they would know that. They’d fought hard to keep their alliance a secret, and Tobirama planned keep it that way.

“We really shouldn’t be this obvious, should we?”

Izuna snorted at that, stepping a little closer - much to the dismay and horror of nearly every shinobi in the clearing. “Don’t make it sound so romantic, Uchiha wannabe.”

“Wha- I wasn’t making it sound anything of the sort! I was simply stating that-”

“We can’t have our clans know about us. Sneaking out to meet each other in secret, despite knowing how our families would see it.”

“You’re making fun of yourself too, you know.”

“What, done denying it already? I guess it’d be easy to fall for someone as brilliant as me.”

He really didn’t have a response for that idiocy. He just gave Izuna the bland look he’d earned, not at all impressed by the smirk the other was sending him. “Do you actually have something important to talk to me about, or are we just raising suspicion over nothing?”

“Actually, no, I don’t. But I’m sure Hashirama does.”

Without giving him any warning beyond that, Izuna snatched up his wrist and started to drag him right on over to the Senju party. His back was turned to the Uchiha so Tobirama could only guess how they were taking this, though he found his mind far too busy trying to figure out how to handle being pushed towards Hashirama to give the Uchiha much more thought than that.

“Nii-san, meet Tobirama - your original if subpar little brother. Tobirama, meet my idiot.”

Tobirama found himself quite literally pushed forward, suddenly up and personal with someone who he really wasn’t prepared to talk to on any personal matter. At least Hashirama looked just as lost; up this close the surprise was more than evident in his wide eyes, the stiffness in his limbs seemingly more from shock than offense at his presence.

He found himself wishing not for the first time in his life that he was better with social interactions. Not that this was any normal situation, with someone who was apparently nothing short of a gabber struggling with words. They were both left staring at each other, Tobirama shifting and Hashirama stock still, up until the moment Izuna stepped forward with a put-upon sigh to jab the Senju clan head with his elbow.

“You’re supposed to _talk_ , not stand and stare at him.”

“But- what do I even _say_?” Hashirama glanced down at Izuna with the biggest eyes Tobirama had ever seen, looking a little like a lost puppy - though that analogy could hardly suit a man of such fighting prowess.

“You’ve been yabbering on about meeting him for at least two weeks, idiot. Just. _Talk_.”

“Okay.” How he managed to sound small while still towering over both of them was a bit of a mystery. He turned back with a bit of a squirm, his expression still entirely unreadable to Tobirama. “So you’re…?”

“I’m your blood brother, yes.” A bit of an assumption that that’s what he meant, but not really a stretch.

Hashirama gave a small nod to that, glancing back to Izuna as if to beg for more help. When all the younger man did was raise one eyebrow in turn, he pouted, turning back to Tobirama with a bit of a sheepish if strained smile. “What am I supposed to call you?”

That was certainly a good question. One he didn’t have an immediate answer to. Not that he ended up having a chance to answer it himself, a simmering presence coming to stand at his side diverting all of their attentions.

“You can call him by his name. Izuna.”

Tobirama shared a look with the legitimate owner of said name. Something that he had no real claim to, no matter how long he’d held it. Without looking away from Izuna he cleared his throat, keeping his voice low enough to not be overheard by the Senju doing their best to not look like they were eavesdropping.

“With our heritage in consideration, I believe it to be for the best that I discard that name. It was given to him, afterall, not me.” It took effort not to peek over at Madara, facing forward instead to address Hashirama directly. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, please, call me Tobirama.”

“If that’s alright…” Hashirama scratched at his head, waiting for a nod from Izuna before continuing. “I was actually wondering if I should call you by name or- well, we’ve only just met, but you _are_ family, even if we were raised apart-”

“He wants to know if he can call you otouto,” Izuna cut in, rolling his eyes. There was a bit of hesitation when they past back over Madara to look at Tobirama, giving his own nerves away. “Feel free to tell him no. He loves to collect strays - not that you wouldn’t know that, having lived with one of them.”

“I’m not a _stray_ , you little-”

“Though I appreciate the thought, Hashirama-san,” Tobirama physically put himself between his spitting brother and the far too smug Izuna, “It’s still a bit...early. We are related by blood, but to be comfortable being considered so in name might take time.”

He instantly felt bad for saying that with how crestfallen Hashirama looked. But feeling bad about it wouldn’t change his mind - no matter that he had been looking forward to meeting him as a brother, he knew it wouldn’t feel right to be called as such by someone he’d only recently been allowed to lay his weapons to rest around.

“Since when do you go by Tobirama anyway?”

Tobirama shrugged at Madara’s question, glancing back at him. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Everyone’s used to putting that name to this face.” He knew that being a sensor might make it harder for Madara to switch names, but there was little helping that. With time, his brother would be able to put the name to his chakra as well.

“Will you be going by Izuna then?”

Izuna pulled his ponytail over his shoulder, studying the ends as he spoke to Hashirama. “It’s what Tobirama’s been calling me for months - would be awkward to go by something else now.”

“What.”

Tobirama found himself silently seconding the utter disbelief in Madara’s tone, convinced Izuna had lost his mind. But all he did was flutter his eyes far too innocently at them, “Ah, oops. I wasn’t supposed to mention we’ve been meeting in secret, plotting to end the war, bring our families together, all that stuff. How clumsy of me.”

“You’ve been _what_?”

Tobirama wasn’t ready for this headache. He stepped right out of the way as Madara barreled forward, stopping to loom over Izuna - who looked entirely unimpressed by the other’s bared teeth, not even flinching at the red aura coming off of him in waves.

“What, have you gone deaf in the past minute? We’ve been meeting and plotting to fix this mess, and succeeded might I add.”

“You’ve been going behind our backs and committing treason!”

“Oh, is that guilt I hear? Hit a little too close to home, remind you of someone?” Izuna leaned forward with his own teeth showing, and in that moment more than ever Tobirama found their similarities striking. “Call it revenge for having to listen to this idiot pine over you for years.”

“I wasn’t _pining_!” Hashirama flailed his arms wildly, nearly smacking Izuna in the head as he did so. “I’m married!”

“Marriage certainly didn’t stop you from pining.”

“Did you know anything about this, Senju?”

“What?”

Izuna side stepped right out from in-between the two clan heads, coming over to stand next to Tobirama to watch his handiwork as the two started arguing. Well, to watch Madara argue. Hashirama was impersonating a windmill at the moment, though he quickly drooped under Madara’s anger.

So this was what Madara meant when he went on about Hashirama’s dramatics. He shook his head at both of the idiots, turning to frown over the one at his side. “You’re an idiot.”

“You wound me.” Izuna sniffed, still keeping an eye on the mess he’d made.

“I thought we’d planned to _not_ tell them.”

“We had. But I planned differently.” A particularly offended shriek had both parties watching their idiots more intensely, though they both knew better than to worry over their siblings by now. “They’d know eventually anyway. Better to clear the air at the start.”

“And risk sparking the war back up?” Tobirama shook his head. Even saying that, he knew that Izuna wouldn’t have said anything if he’d thought the odds were stacked against them. Didn’t make it any better that he’d been kept out of the loop, scowling down at the other man. “Next time, at least warn me so I can bring something for this headache.”

“Oooo, already wanting to plot together again? Who are we going to bring down next?”

Ignoring Izuna’s playful smirk, Tobirama scratched at his cheek in thought. “Once the village is founded, we’re likely to still have enemies. Might even make more since our alliance could be taken as a threat. I’m sure there will be plenty of people to bring down - or force to come to our side.”

“Oh, you know _just_ how to talk to a man, don’t you?”

“What?” That odd spark in Izuna’s eyes couldn’t mean anything good, especially accompanied by that dark tone, but for the life of him Tobirama didn’t know what it all meant. He still had to look away, pushing whatever was jumping in his stomach to the side in favor of clearing his throat and dealing with the two man children instead. “I believe this break has been sufficient. Perhaps we should get back to discussing territory boundaries?”

It took a bit more wrangling to get them all back on task, something Izuna didn’t help with, but eventually both parties fell back into a more relaxed mirror of their earlier positions. Not much headway was made as far as land disputes went but the air was light when they all parted for their respective compounds, none of the previous dread marring their group despite Madara’s continuous grumbling.

After so long sneaking behind his brother’s back and waiting for debriefings after each meeting, it was with no small measure of relief that Tobirama returned to his room, more confident than ever in their futures.

Even with the clans dragging their feet about the peace treaties, it was clear both heads and heirs were more than willing to work for this. At this rate, founding a village probably wouldn’t take but a few well-timed pushes. With that thought in mind, Tobirama collapsed onto his futon, ready to rest his body and mind now to fight even harder for their plans later.

* * *

 

It still didn’t feel real.

Two years after the first proverbial brick had been laid, and Tobirama still found himself staring at the houses in a daze some days, not entirely believing they were there. On those days he found himself walking further away from the streets now beginning to bustle with life, to clear his mind of all that it instinctively wanted to reject as reality. More often than not he ended up at the river, senses stretched out to feel for the two massive signatures that belonged to his brothers, feeling one loom about while the other flitted here and there.

They were running the village well together at least. As it turns out, two idiot brains were better than one, though it helped that both Izuna and himself were around to clean up any messes their brothers made.

Speaking of Izuna…

It was no surprise to feel the man’s chakra signature headed his way, though Tobirama had no idea how to feel about that. He scowled down at the water’s edge, absently running a finger over the scar on his chin, wondering if it wasn’t too late to head back to the village.

Not that any ill will had grown between them. Without Izuna the village would have never been founded, and their joint venture in bending Hi no Kuni to Konoha’s will was going exceptionally well.

It was the time they spent together _outside_ of their professional lives that had Tobirama hesitating, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he waited for his friend to arrive.

Something had changed shortly after the clans had moved into the village’s limits. What _exactly_ that something was still evaded Tobirama, though he was more than aware of the shift. If he was being honest with himself, lately he couldn’t entirely tell if Izuna even enjoyed his company, but the fact that he so often sought him out should lay that fear of sorts to rest.

Why he insisted on bickering and sparring even more than before, though, he had no idea.

“Figured you’d be here, of all places.”

How he could put so much snark into a single remark was beyond him. Tobirama tilted his head just enough to look over at his companion, watching the way Izuna intently watched him in return.

Even this turned into a competition. A test to see who would break and speak first. With a roll of his eyes, far too tired of the constant rivalry, Tobirama drawled, “I suppose there’s a reason you came here?”

“Nothing specific, no, but since you’re not busy…”

It was only experience dealing with Izuna’s surprise assaults that had Tobirama ducking away from the kunai in time, finding himself dodging right to miss a second and soon locked in a sparring match without further delay.

Like most of their interactions, their sparring had changed as well. Back when the village was little more than a few wood huts here and there they had sparred much like they used to fight, full arsenal of weapons and jutsu alike. The last few months it had become just short of brawling, more hand to hand than anything else, with Izuna taking every opportunity to slip into his personal guard and space.

Even expecting it, Tobirama was thrown off when Izuna stepped a little too close, leaning back just a little too much and giving Izuna the opportunity to knock his balance. Far too soon he found himself on the ground, one arm trapped at his side with the other pinned above his head, staring up at the man crouched on him, grinning with victory.

“What’s wrong, ‘Rama? Not your day?” His faux concern along with the cool metal of a blade at his throat had Tobirama’s nose twitching, itching to smack the bastard all but lording his win over him.

“Get off. And lay off the desserts for a while, you’re heavy.”

“Rude.” Instead of getting off, Izuna grinned wider, tilting his head this way and that as if to study the man trapped beneath him. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to let you up. Especially after that comment.”

“If you’re planning on crushing me to death, spare me and slit my throat instead.”

With a single flick of his wrist, the kunai was embedded in a tree across the clearing, Izuna’s palm coming to rest on Tobirama’s chest instead as he leaned down close.

“No, I have better plans for you.”

“Better plans?” They must have fought harder than he thought. Either that or Tobirama was somehow out of practice. He did his best to will his heartbeat to steady as Izuna’s hair slipped over his shoulder, hanging loose from their spar.

“Would you like to know what they are?”

He knew that glint in Izuna’s eyes. Had seen it on far too many occasions to count after working so closely over the years, able to read his expressions even when the man had only a few tells.

Right at that moment, he was Izuna’s prey. Trapped and right where he wanted him, and Tobirama had little doubt the man wanted to play with his victim.

That alone should have worried him. He’d seen Izuna play with their targets, tear minds apart with genjutsu, without it when he felt especially bored. It shouldn’t have set his heart beating faster for any other reason than fear or apprehension, shouldn’t have made him stare with little thought beyond burning curiosity.

Izuna grinned like a madman, and Tobirama swallowed hard.

“I’m going to let go of your arms, only to tie them above your head. Then, I’m going to celebrate my victory however I see fit.” He lowered the few inches left between their faces, their grazing lips causing Tobirama’s breath to hitch. “And after I’m done, I might just let you cum. Does that sound like a better plan to you, Tobirama?”

A fleeting thought, there and gone an instant later, was spared for understanding that _this_ was what had changed - and that Izuna had drastically different methods of flirting than anyone else Tobirama had heard of - before he found himself invested in something considerably more interesting than analyzing their recent interactions.

With himself soon tangled up in the mess that was Izuna, he had little presence of mind to wonder about any of the many mysteries that had brought them to that moment. All he cared about was keeping the moment, keeping the future secure to have as many moments as possible - and desperately hoping that neither of their brothers discovered whatever was forming between them.

At least he had faith they could keep this. Little had stopped them in the past, after all, no matter that the world had been stacked against them, and little could grind them to a halt now. They had a whole future full of moments to enjoy to themselves they’d built by their own hands, and by their own hands they would keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit given to [this](https://fineillsignup.tumblr.com/post/182665874053/theory-about-madara-and-izunas-names/) wonderful theory on the Uchiha brothers and where their names might come from.


End file.
